


We Are Our Own Folklore

by DemonQueen666



Series: Folkin' Around verse [6]
Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Engagement, Established Relationship, F/M, Family Drama, Flashbacks, Frost Giants - Freeform, Gen, Genderswap, Identity Swap, Interplanetary Travel, Norse Myths & Legends, Past Character Death, Pole Dancing, Sexual Experimentation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-21
Updated: 2013-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-14 17:29:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 107,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/517744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonQueen666/pseuds/DemonQueen666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After what might seem to some like the world's longest courtship, Loki and Darcy are finally dating, and Thor and Jane are set to be married. But during the engagement party several intervening parties are out to throw a wrench into both relationships in a big way. Some of them are outsiders, but some come from much closer, and through uncomfortable ties to the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Golden Bird

**Author's Note:**

> Going to have to address this first and foremost before I get comments screaming at me: 
> 
> A warning for all you Norse Mythology aficionados out there, I've rearranged the gods of Asgard's family tree so much it might give you an aneurysm. People who are not supposed to be related now are, and other people are now related in different ways. (In one case, I've turned a spouse into a parent.) Yes, I know that it's at least fifteen different kinds of 'wrong'. Yes, I know what I'm doing, and no; I am not sorry. Attempts to 'correct' or 'inform' me will be ignored.
> 
> And in my defense, the movie and comics basically started it anyway when they made Thor and Loki brothers.

Outside the isolated location that housed one of SHIELD’s major research facilities, the weather had been acting strangely all day. It was gray, and cold, the clouds heavy and overcast. But though the sky never lightened and it’d been like that for hours and hours - the day never really dawning when the sun had yet to show its head - it refused to rain.

Phil Coulson made his way along one of the ground-level halls, walking at a brisk but simultaneously unhurried pace. He turned his neck, head tilting as he glanced through the windows to his right, taking in the sky and surrounding expanse of rolling empty fields. Beneath the clouds the grass looked wet and almost gray.

Something about the weather in such a state could lead to feelings of lethargy, even depression, and the agent knew he’d be dealing all afternoon with procrastination from subordinates moved to melancholy and idleness. But he himself went on, unaffected.

He reached his destination at the end of the long and empty white corridor, sliding his access key to open the elevator before stepping inside.

_“Voiceprint identification, please,”_ a mechanical voice prompted.

“Phillip Coulson, Special Supervisory Agent.”

_“Confirmed. Destination?”_

“Laboratory level two,” he stated in a clear tone.

_“Destination confirmed and authorized. Have a nice day.”_ The voice cut out and he was treated to about two minutes of calming muzak before the swiftly descending elevator brought him to his floor.

Another walk down a shorter and less sterilely-lit hall delivered Coulson to a red door emblazoned with the words “ _WARNING: POTENTIAL ATMOSPHERIC DISTURBANCE INSIDE. DO NOT PROCEED IF LIGHT IS LIT”._

Coulson glanced at the caution light positioned just beside the door, but it was dark. He opened the door and slipped through.

The inside was a massive workspace, with two large desks and several white tables covered in open notebooks and piles of paper printouts dominating the periphery. Among them hovered several vertical computer tablets provided by Stark Industries that displayed flashing images of diagrams and streams of data.

But at the very center of the room was an open area filled with equipment and elegantly spooled wires and humming generators, the combination of which all meant nothing to Coulson, but he was aware it looked impressive.

This was what was known as the Bifrost generator; the working gateway between dimensions and the only one of its kind on Earth. So far its only direct link was to the portal on Asgard, Dr. Foster having used the knowledge gained through her research to help the Asgardians fix their version of the device. But it was hoped that one day the manmade contraption would be just as varied and powerful as its inspiration, and able to extend its reach to other worlds, maybe even ones not yet discovered.

The process was proving slow-going however – not least, Coulson suspected, because Dr. Foster’s busy social life kept getting in the way.

The agent stepped over a marked panel on the floor and ducked his head to avoid the overreaching arm of a piece of equipment, making his way towards the center. “Dr. Selvig?” he called out. “Are you in here?”

“Over here, Agent.”

Coulson turned his head toward the voice and beheld the other man standing on top of a ladder several feet above him, the side of whatever machinery he was standing next to open and his hands buried in wires as he adjusted something with a wrench.

“Hard at work, I see.”

“Well now, where else would I be?” the scientist remarked.

Coulson worked his way a few steps closer. “Some might assume on Asgard, along with your coworkers.”

Selvig gave a chuckle at that. “Ah, maybe so. But the ladies are young yet, and welcome to have their adventures. I might as well stay behind; see if I can uncover anything useful.” He grunted as he leaned forward, looking more closely at whatever he was working on. “Though it’s certainly more quiet here without them around – especially Darcy.”

Coulson’s mouth twitched in a way that on another man might have turned into a smile. He had to concur: it was different without Dr. Foster and her assistant. But both women had gone to Asgard, and neither of them was expected back for quite some time.

Coulson had to point out, “You’ll probably have to get used to them not being here. Someday.”

After all, the reason they – and Thor – were not on Earth at the moment was because of what they were celebrating on Asgard: the culmination of Jane and Thor’s relationship with an official engagement.

A year from now, the two would be married. And who knew, maybe in their lifetimes Odin would step down and retire, crowning his son as king.

And then Jane Foster would be queen of Asgard. Knowing what he did of the woman, Coulson suspected it would take more than wild horses to drag her away from her scientific research. But it was to be thought that her new duties as royalty would keep her rather busy.

Selvig could’ve reacted to this reminder with distaste. But instead he snorted, lightly, showing that for the moment he was far from concerned. “Probably, someday,” he repeated the words, agreeing. “But not any time soon. So I’ll worry about that when it happens. Until then, there’s not really anything I can do.”

Finishing up he shut the panel with a satisfied sound. He paused, looking upward.

Though they were underground the device’s reliance on weather and natural energy patterns made access to the sky necessary, and over the ceiling of the lab was a large enforced glass dome at the bottom of an open concrete tunnel, shooting straight up.

Selvig took in the stubbornly gray skyline and gave an odd laugh.

“You know, it’s funny.” Wiping his hands with a rag he climbed carefully down from the ladder. “When I was growing up, the old men where I lived would probably talk on a day that looked like this. They’d say things like, ‘Thor is riding in his chariot across the heavens’, or ‘Loki must be up to some mischief’.”

Coulson gave him a quietly considering look. “Do you think there’s anything to it?” he asked, distantly curious.

Selvig shook his head, making a face in quick dismissal of the thought as ridiculous. “Oh, no. I doubt it. They don’t control our very world, especially with actions that to them would be inconsequential.” He spread his hands, briefly. “The Asgardians are capable of amazing, otherworldly things, but in the end they’re men, not gods – no more than any of the other extraordinarily gifted people I’ve met working here.”

Coulson nodded. “Still, considering both your connection to the mythological material, and your personal history with Dr. Foster and her family, it might be unexpected, you not attending the engagement party.”

“I’m too old for this ‘journeying to other worlds’ business,” Selvig said, frank. “I’m a scientist and excited by discovery, but at the end of the day I like to keep my firsthand experiences limited to equations and data-points:  where the most they can do to hurt me is cause a gear or two to explode in my face.”

He walked past Coulson towards his desk, addressing him over his shoulder.

“I’ve been to Asgard once, and that was enough for me. I saw things that surpassed the stories of my childhood. It more than satisfied any curiosity I’ve culturally inherited. Now I prefer to stick to the world where things _mostly_ work the way I’ve always expected them to.” Selvig focused on the computer at his desk, squinting intently at something he brought up while his fingers tapped away at the keyboard. “If Jane decides to have the actual _wedding_ on Asgard, whenever that is, I’ll be back – though frankly I hope she doesn’t.”

“Me too,” Coulson said evenly. “I’ve had enough difficulties funneling requests to attend this celebration.”

Apparently tradition dictated that such a momentous and noteworthy occasion should last for weeks, even months – and Thor, as the guest of honor, would be gone that entire time. On top of that, all his teammates with the exceptions of Dr. Banner and Agent Romanov wanted, at some point, to be allowed to leave and join him.

Coulson strongly hoped there were no large-scale threatening catastrophes during that time.

Selvig paused in his typing, shaking his head. “I have to admit, part of me never seemed to really think this would happen,” he admitted. “Dating a ‘superhero’ seems to be full of its ups and downs. Don’t get me wrong – I might have mistrusted Thor at first but I love him now, and he and Jane have been dating for over a year; that’s more than enough for anyone. But, I think, part of me always thought, that there would be some kind of…”

“Incident,” Coulson offered, helpfully, after Selvig had trailed off. The scientist screwed up his face but nodded.

“Right. An ‘incident’ would come up, between then and now.”

“Well it didn’t,” the agent stated the obvious. “And now, here we are.”

Selvig chuckled again. “Right: here we are,” he emphasized meaningfully. “Where I doubt either of us could have ever expected.”

Coulson let that pass for a beat before smoothly folding his hands behind his back. “I try not to ‘expect’ things,” he informed. “I just wait, observe, see what happens. Makes it easier to react that way.”

“Well not all of us can be programmed,” Selvig retorted, a bit sardonic. He had gone back to mostly observing his computer. “Anyway, Agent, was there something you wanted from me?”

“Just an official update on your status,” Coulson told him.

“I’ll spare you the long and drawn-out details that you probably wouldn’t understand.” Selvig glanced up briefly and waved on hand in the direction of another table. “There’s a report there – it’s fully up to date. Should have everything you need.”

“Thank you.”

The agent headed over to where Selvig had indicated, and despite the disorganized stacks of paper and other odds and ends strewn about the report he needed was right there on top and stapled.

Coulson picked it up and hesitated when in doing so he revealed what he could only assume was an old post-it note in Ms. Lewis’ handwriting, requesting that someone give her gas money so that she could fill up the van. It was punctuated by a little face with x’s for eyes and its tongue sticking out.

Coulson cocked his head, an unreadable expression on his face, and turned on one heel to look back at Selvig.

“How do you think Ms. Lewis will be dealing with such an extended stay?” he questioned.

Selvig lifted his head away from his work with an expression of surprise. “Why, Agent Coulson,” he demanded, clearly joking, “are you worried about Darcy’s welfare?”

“It’s not worry. More like simple curiosity,” was Coulson’s reply, terse and honest. “I know while they’re there Dr. Foster will probably have plenty to keep her engaged from one day to another, pun not intended.” He took a step back towards the scientist’s direction. “But it isn’t Ms. Lewis’ party, and it’s doubtful she’ll always even be able to see Thor or Jane. Given her somewhat flighty nature, it’s not hard to imagine her growing bored.”

“This isn’t Darcy’s first trip to Asgard,” Selvig reminded him knowingly. “She’s got friends there, and much more than that besides. She knows her way around. Trust me: she’ll be able to keep herself plenty occupied.”

*

On Asgard, the day’s weather couldn’t have looked any more different than it’d been at the SHIELD compound. The heavens above the Realm Eternal were bright and cloudless, a clear and resilient shade of purest blue. The sun had shone without falter over the gleaming domes and spires of her capital city; over the golden roads and rich parks and gardens, the towering compounds filled with their many varying occupants.

And at the palace, they had enjoyed a long day that’d been perfectly warm and cheery, full of pleasures; a kind of day that was a small paradise into itself that seemed to stretch on forever.

But the day _had_ ended, and now it was night. Early evening, to be specific.

The time when most retreated from common areas to behind private doors, to indulge in different kinds of pleasure. It was the better hours for the wicked and playful to have their fun.

In the palace quarters of the second prince, the bedchamber was lit entirely by the embers of freshly burning coals in every hanging brazier, and the floor was strewn all over with discarded clothes.

And Darcy Lewis fell on her back to the bed with a satisfied sound, head dropping back as she panted in the throes of recently achieved ecstasy.

“Oh. Oof.” She breathed in and out for a few minutes before she could speak, the only sound in the meantime the air rushing into her throat. “That was _great_ ,” she declared enthusiastically, a big smile making its way onto her face.

Clad only in a rumpled sheet of forest green that half-covered her naked body, Darcy opened her eyes again and pushed herself to a sitting position using her elbows. Her hair was a wild mess that cascaded around her shoulders.

“Think you could go again?” She smirked, reaching for her partner. Then she leaned back, making herself comfortable on the pillows. “Or do you need like half an hour maybe to recover?”

From his position near her lower body Loki lifted his head up enough that all that was visible at first was his flashing green eyes.

“A full half an hour,” he murmured, as one hand moved to curl long fingers around her knee, the other briefly rubbing the inside of her ankle before stroking palm his way up her thigh. “I wonder, just what it is that you take me for?”

Darcy gave a breathy giggle. “Gotta love that godly stamina,” she remarked with a note of experience.

Loki raised his head to give her a look full of silent laughter at that, and shifted his posture upwards to press a soft but thorough kiss to the underside of her knee. “Indeed.”

Darcy spread her arms out and more thoroughly melted into the mattress, reveling in it, as all over she gave little wriggles of pleasure under his caress.

For all that they had worked together every single freaking day in the lab and understandably grown quite close, Jane, that cheat, had never been very good at disclosing details about her personal life, tending to fall into stutters and blushes whenever they got even close to talking about the really intimate parts.

Which was a darn shame. Because if Thor had been nailing Jane as hard and as expertly from day one as Loki had been nailing her the past couple of months, Darcy figured _she_ sure would’ve liked hearing about it.

Oh well. So she had missed out on the vicarious thrill of hearing all the juicy details; she had still picked up a bit here and there through observation (and the occasional things she overhead the times she had stayed near Thor and Jane in a place where the walls were too thin). Not gossiping about it was hardly a loss, now that she was getting her own world rocked on a fairly regular basis in real time.

And though they’d certainly both had their reasons, all that time she and Loki had spent dancing around the obvious before getting right down to it seemed so _regrettable_ in hindsight.

As Loki slunk over beside her on his knees, gently pulling her up so he could slip his arms around her, the line of her back tight up against his chest, not for the first time Darcy thought about how awesome Asgard was. They were kind of old-fashioned in that fun medieval fair sort of way, but totally down with the sexual liberation movement. Not to mention almost every guy she’d seen so far looked uh-maz-ing without a shirt.

Her current boyfriend _definitely_ not being an exception in that, either.

Darcy gave a little sound that was almost a purr as Loki slipped her hair aside, kissing the back of her neck, hands roaming along her breasts and stomach. She shifted her weight, sitting back on top his folded knees, leaning into his muscled body.

Closing her eyes again Darcy turned her head, tilting her neck so as to offer Loki the side of her throat to continue his ministrations on.

“Next time I visit I need to bring this issue of Cosmo,” she said offhand, remembering. The subscription had been a gift from a relative, and she mostly read it to laugh at. “There’s a position in there that looks…interesting.”

Loki stopped and pulled away a bit, legs slipping out from under her, and Darcy opened her eyes to look at him.

“Interesting? Oh, but my fairest, if you want to do something more ‘interesting’ you know you need only ask. And I can think of _much_ more sensational things we can try than would be found lying betwixt the pages of any mortal magazine.”

The expression on Loki’s face wasn’t insulted; it was canny, scheming. A look Darcy had come to view with a certain amount of wariness when it involved both of them and they were naked.

He reached out, two fingers twining and curling a strand of her hair. He smiled at her, thin and merry, eyes half-lidded.

“What do you say? Is that what you want, this night?”

“Um,” she said, because she’d already learned her immortal sorcerer lover had a very different definition of ‘experimental’. She sat up on her heels and resisted the sudden weird urge to shield her chest with her arms. “I don’t know. What exactly did you have in mind?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” And apparently he was in the mood to wig her out tonight, because without warning he _changed_ right before her eyes. “I can think of a few things…”

Darcy found herself looking at a perfect carbon copy of her. She stared.

Unabashed, Loki made himself comfortable on his stomach, legs bent at the knee to kick feet carelessly in the air. He rested chin atop folded arms, smiling in a sultry and coquettish way that Darcy was pretty sure she couldn’t pull off with her own version of those lips.

“Okay, first of all, I feel like you should have to ask for my permission before you turn into me,” she objected, indignant. “Second, what is it you’re trying to say to me here? Do you think I’m some kind of narcissist?”

“I wasn’t trying to imply that at all,” Loki told her, mildly, and it was really weird hearing him talk with her voice. “I was only thinking of things we could do to make our experience a bit…different.”

As he finished that sentence he reached out, fingertips brushing her, and Darcy gave a yelp out of reflex as she felt magic washing over her. The tingle that started in her skin and sank through to her flesh told her it was the shape-changing kind.

“ _What_ have I told you about doing that to me without asking first?” she demanded.

But she stopped speaking, eyes widening as she heard her voice change mid-sentence, and she looked down and realized _who_ he had changed her into.

Darcy went rigidly still, disoriented by the different sense of balance in her body, now that she was taller and broader-shouldered and her legs and arms were so long. Her mouth gaped momentarily as she struggled for something to say, snapping it shut when she came up with nothing.

Slowly she looked down, lifting up one hand for examination, spreading thin fingers apart with bemusement and consternation. As well as she knew the shape of this body, it was a hell of a lot different being on the other side.

“It’s very odd, seeing that look on my face,” Loki commented.

“It’s very odd _having_ your face,” Darcy retorted, voice flat. Her hands itched to reach and press against her changed features, to feel where he’d given her his cheekbones and nose, but she didn’t. It was all too surreal.

“Hm,” was all Loki said, a sound of non-commitment. He rolled over to his side, leaning chin against the curled fingers of one hand, the other resting on the opposite hip, legs stretched out beside him.

If Darcy didn’t know better she’d _swear_ he was purposefully showing off her body.

“Well, what do you think, then? Shall we give it a try or not?”

“What, you mean like…role reversal?” Darcy blinked as she finally caught up with what he was suggesting. “The same thing only…” she spread her arms apart, both hands upraised now, as she looked down at herself in an identical version of Loki’s body “…different?”

“Something like that,” Loki agreed. There was something catlike about the smile her face was wearing. “The same union, but experienced now from opposite ends of the pole.”

“I…I don’t know. It could be fun, but-”

There was something _intriguing_ about the idea, sure. But it was hard to get past the part where she still felt markedly weirded out. Loki was used to changing his shape; he was used to being a _girl_ too, Darcy had seen him do that enough times. He already knew what it was like on ‘the other side’.

Her? Not so much. The thought of getting physically intimate in a body not her own was daunting and unsettling enough – and then there were the details. Even the arousal was somehow ‘off’.

She stole a glance down at the very male genitalia this body came equipped with and decided that it was too big a step.

“No, I don’t think so.” Darcy shook her head. “Put it on the list for a thing to maybe try, someday, but not now. Not tonight.”

“If you say so.” Loki pushed up his hands and walked over on knees to her. He changed her back first, cupping her face in his hands, and Darcy couldn’t help giving a quick sigh of relief. “It’s all right. I didn’t frighten you, did I?”

He had turned back as well, and Darcy gazed up into his eyes, bright and watching her intently in a face casual but marked by faint traces of concern.

“No,” she reassured him, hands on top of his where they still held her face. “No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just, you don’t have to go straight to the magic all the time, you know? I’m sure you’ve got other tricks in your repertoire before that.”

He offered her a faint smile. “I don’t want you to grow bored.”

Darcy pulled back a bit as she blinked in reflexive surprise. Then she snorted.

“Believe me, I am not about to get ‘bored’ while I’m dating you, any time soon,” she replied incredulously, laughing with a shake of her head.

Loki didn’t say anything, but his smile grew a touch more relaxed. He pulled her closer in his embrace and for a minute or so they just cuddled one another. Darcy rested her head on his shoulder.

Then suddenly she broke the closeness, slipping back to give him a startled look.

“Hey. What time is it? You know, back home.”

She had long ago learned that the clock on her phone, her iPod, even her watch couldn’t be trusted on Asgard. Something to do with the different planets or cosmic interference or – whatever. Jane had tried explaining it once with algorithms and Darcy had promptly zoned out.

The point was, if for some reason she wanted to know what time it was on Earth, she had to run and ask Loki.

She wasn’t sure _why_ exactly he was so good at keeping track of it in his head. Chalk it up to yet another part of his strange skillset.

Loki cocked his head slightly, clearly wondering why the sudden question, but he didn’t ask. “Which time zone?”

“Central.”

He was quiet for a moment – from his half-focused expression, it looked like he might be doing mental math. “It should be almost nine o’clock in the evening.”

“Oh, crap.” Darcy spun away from him, jumping out of bed with both feet on the floor, taking one of the sheets along to drape it around herself. “I have to make a phone call.” She twisted her head back, explaining, “My mom. I promised I’d call her tonight to let her know I landed safely.”

Loki’s eyebrows rose. “’Landed’?’ he repeated with palpable amusement.

Darcy rolled her eyes. “You know. _Arrived._ Whatever you’d call it.” Despite the fact she’d been hopping back and forth between planets for almost a year now and she’d told her almost everything, her mom still didn’t seem to quite have grasped what was going on.

Of course, she was also taking the whole “only daughter dating an alien sorcerer reformed supervillain space prince” thing pretty well, so Darcy didn’t have much room to complain.

“Look, the point is, she wanted to hear that I got here safely, all right?” Darcy hitched up the bedsheet a little. “I need to step out for a minute. Raincheck, okay?”

Loki’s brow was still lifted, but after a moment he gave a peaceable smile. “I’m certain we’ll find plenty of time to make up for it,” he pointed out. He held his hand out, palm upraised. “Give me your phone.”

Darcy beamed. “Thanks! You’re the best.” Ducking down she fumbled among her scattered articles of clothing, groping on the floor, until finally she located her pants and produced her cell phone.

“Here we go.” She handed it over to him.

It went without saying that usually, phones didn’t get reception on Asgard. Even the Avengers’ communicators couldn’t function across the long-range distance from one dimension to the next. But Loki had perfected a spell that for a short amount of time allowed calls to be placed out, as long as he knew some specifics.

Cupping his hand around the device he brought her phone closer to his face, and never breaking eye contact with her he blew on it what looked briefly like a puff of dancing green sparks.

He handed it back. “And there you are.”

Darcy took it with one hand, the other still holding her makeshift sheet outfit closed. She dropped to the bed on one knee, scooting closer so she could kiss him.

“Thanks,” she said again, warm and happy. “I love you.”

“I know,” Loki responded, offhand, as she was already getting up again, moving away from the bed as she looked down at her cell, pressing buttons with one thumb.

Darcy was walking off towards the other end of the very big room so as to give her conversation some space when she got picked up on the third ring. “Mom? Hi! It’s me, Darcy. Yeah! I know it’s kind of late, but there was a ton of stuff to take care of when we got here…”

As she kept walking, her back in the direction of the bed, Loki laid back among the pillows, chin rested on one hand as he watched her with fondness.

*

The next morning on Asgard started out cooler than it had the day previous, but the sun still shone brightly, casting everything in a warm buttery color in the early hours.

Jane and Thor sat at a table on an open-air terrace overlooking part of the palace gardens. Through wide white arches the space was illuminated with natural light and the air was scented by fruits and flowers that grew outside. In front of them was spread a modest but sumptuous breakfast.

The privacy and quiet was a welcome respite. After many visits over the time they were seeing each other Jane had gotten used to the way things worked: just about every night there was a banquet, in which a palace overflowing with nobles and soldiers was expected to all sit down together. It was a raucous and often overwhelming affair, especially when repeated one evening after the next. Morning and afternoon meals were slightly less formal, where as much food was laid out but people didn’t arrive all at once, coming and going over the space of several hours and stopping to chat with friends when they saw them. Under these circumstances the hall reminded Jane more like cafeterias she’d eaten in at college, or even in high school.

But while they served as social gatherings it wasn’t odd for people to skip the earlier public meals. The king rarely went to breakfast and the queen never did. Instead she presided over this terrace, where she dined peacefully and in the company of whatever friends or family she chose to invite. Often that was her sons and, whenever they were present, both their significant others.

That morning while Frigga had things to oversee that kept her too busy, she’d nonetheless asked them to enjoy the usual without her.

It seemed there was no corner of the palace the turmoil created by this engagement didn’t reach.

Jane had only just begun to see the full extent of the festivities, which would be lasting for some time. Every night so far there’d been a feast, complete with rounds of heavy toasting and performances from minstrels and bards. In a few days tournaments and open-air festivals would begin, and there’d be plays and other forms of entertainment, in part put on simply to occupy all the guests.

The repaired Bifrost was already being well-used as more travelers arrived by the day. In addition to nobles from the furthest reaches of Asgard there were others from all over; worlds mentioned in Norse mythology and some Jane had never heard of.

There were elves with thin-boned faces and high, reedy voices. There were dwarves, bearded and squat and surly. Though they had not been invited as attendants there’d even been a contingent of goblins and dark elves that appeared a few days before, clad in polished red and black armor and grey dresses with high necklines and flowing trains, to leave gifts and pay their respects.

And this, Jane had to keep reminding herself, was only to celebrate the _engagement_. She shuddered to think what the wedding would be like further down the line.

Some women would squeal over the thought of marrying their way into becoming a princess, a future queen. They’d be head over heels for all the wealth and power it would bring.

Jane was not one of those women. There were times she asked herself if it was worth it.

She sat there in a thin cardigan, quiet in her thoughts as she put some fruit on her plate and nibbled a piece of toast. Her hair was pinned up and she was wearing an expensive pair of ceramic earrings, but other than that she was her very same self. Modest. Ordinary. A woman who daydreamed about getting to other worlds through numbers and equations, not on the back of a knight’s white horse.

So why, oh why, was she doing this?

She turned her head and looked off to the right at where Thor was seated, wearing clothes that she knew he considered casual but would make him overdressed and out of place anywhere other than Asgard. He ate with gusto, his platter loaded with meat and eggs, though he was restraining himself slightly in an effort to keep his manners.

As Jane watched Thor paused in his chewing, reaching for a mug full of coffee (the beverage had become a big hit after he’d introduced it to Asgard). He took a sip and glanced up, noticing Jane was looking at him.

Instantly as his blue eyes met hers they warmed, coming even further alive with extra sparkle. He set his mug down and beamed as he sat up to look at her, his smile splitting to the furthest corners of his face.

Jane felt her heart flutter as she saw that expression, as they sat there gazing into each other’s eyes.

He was so handsome, so perfect, so full of life and energy. He was so happy just being near her, and he cared for her so much. And she loved him.

And that was the reason why she was doing this, because what better reason could there be?

Without speaking, still smiling, Thor put his hand on the table, his big palm reaching for hers. Jane placed her hand out, feeling his fingers envelop hers easily with their warmth, giving them a gentle squeeze.

“Jane.” He always said her name like he was never going to get tired of saying it. His thumb stroked her knuckles. There was no ring there yet: Asgardians didn’t do engagement rings, but they did do wedding bands. One day they would both have matching rings of gold. “How are you faring this day?”

“Okay. Good,” she told him. She laughed faintly. “Still a little overwhelmed.”

Thor gave a grin that had a slight air of the sheepish. “From what I have seen of Earth, I believe I can understand how some of our ways may seem overmuch at times.” He moved his hand to her shoulder, stroking her. “But you should take it as a compliment. All the Nine Realms want to share in the joy of our impending union.”

“You mean they want to share in the spectacle of a powerful prince getting married. And maybe curry some favor,” Jane corrected him, good-natured but forceful. “This is all about you. It has nothing to do with me.”

She could’ve been anyone. She was the fair maid of a distant land the Mighty Thor courted and chose for his bride. From the narrative as most knew it she was the prize, not the protagonist, in the fairy tale. And for the most part, she was okay with that.

After all, none of these otherworldly strangers were her friends, her relatives, her colleagues. So what did she care what they think?

Thor’s mouth pressed into a thin line, not quite a frown. He seemed to be silently acknowledging there was some truth to what she said.

But after a moment he insisted, gentle, “But that isn’t so. You forget among my people you’re already renowned as the Bringer of the Bifrost.” He grinned again as he said this, clearly proud.

Jane gave a dizzy sort of laugh as he reminded her of this, like always not sure how she should feel. Of course she was proud of her accomplishment. But if it hadn’t been for the Asgardians’ technology she wouldn’t have had such a great starting-off point. And it was disorienting, being revered by people that’d been worshipped as ancient gods.

For right now she decided just to concede the point and not argue. “Fine.” With an indulgent smile she patted Thor’s hand, saying sweetly, “It is _our_ engagement. We’ll say that it’s about the both of us.”

“But of course.” Thor briefly took both her hands in his, before leaning towards her in the best kind of an embrace he could with the amount of distance between them. “As it’s only fitting it should be!”

Jane smiled, but as he released her and returned to his meal, a thought occurred that immediately began bothering her.

Much as she was enjoying this chance to be alone together, she realized it was odd that it’d lasted this long. Darcy she knew could sleep well past noon if they’d let her, especially if she’d been up late partying, but Loki was habitually an early riser.

Her gaze shifted askance to the two empty plates. “Where do you think the others are? I’d have expected them by now.”

When she looked at her fiancé she was surprised to see him pause mid-chew, a mildly conflicted look on his face. Catching her watching he tried to banish it, but Jane wasn’t fooled.

“I know not about Darcy, but there is a chance my brother may not be joining us this morning,” he admitted.

“Why not?”

Thor was quiet in that way she knew meant he was reluctant to answer. “It’s nothing important.”

“Thor…”

“Loki and I quarreled, the other day.” The words escaped him in a rush.

At first was Jane was speechless simply because she was startled. Then the possible gravity of what he was saying set in, and she sucked in a breath, worry and fear quickly rising.

“We had a disagreement,” Thor clarified, probably reading her face. Given his history with Loki ‘quarreled’ could’ve meant a lot of things; he was backpedaling over that now. “An argument. Nothing more.”

“What was it about?” Jane asked softly, feeling reassured but only by a degree.

But Thor had the hard look of stubbornness that she knew even her pushing wouldn’t get through. “It wasn’t important,” he repeated. “It’s nothing that need concern you.”

When she frowned, preparing to speak, Thor interrupted her with a sigh.

“Once this was not so uncommon. Loki and I are brothers: as brothers often do we disagreed over something and fought, yelling, throwing words. We’d storm off, and for days after might not speak or even look at one another.”

“And then, what?” Jane questioned. “Eventually it would die down and you’d stop being angry at one another?”

“Sometimes. Or one of our friends, or Mother, might have to interfere and bring us together.” Thor rolled his shoulders in a shrug. “It could be petty, often foolish. Spiteful. But no worse than that.”

When she didn’t say anything in response he gave her a beseeching look.

“Please, Jane. I don’t want your mind clouded by needless worries during this happy time. I promise you, it’s nothing.”

She couldn’t help noticing that it sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as her.

But she tried to be reasonable. Thor was probably only concerned because this reminded him of the much less minor or ‘brotherly’ fights he’d had with Loki, which was understandable.

If Thor swore there was nothing else to it, they had no other reason to worry…she was supposed to be able to trust him.

She did her best to banish anxiety from her thoughts and smiled for his benefit. “Okay. If you don’t want to talk about it, I won’t make you. Far as I’m concerned the subject never even came up.”

Not entirely true; but Thor smiled back and seemed to believe her, so it worked. Jane returned to her breakfast in comfortable if pensive quiet.

Jane’s feelings about Loki were complicated. She’d first been introduced to him as a faceless – and then not-so-faceless – threat, and there’d been times when he’d been directly hostile to her in words and implications, if never _quite_ actions.

She felt sorry for some of what he’d been through and knew he was trying to be a better man now.

And Thor…Thor loved his brother. There’d never been any denying that. It was unthinkable she could be in a relationship with Thor and ignore someone who was such a close part of his life.

Loki would be her family too, through marriage. He seemed as aware of that as she was. Jane tried to be civil and kind to him, and was given the same amount of civility and kindness in return. They never really seemed to know what to do with one another.

No one said they _had_ to be friends. And Jane didn’t see how they could be, with her unable to either trust or mistrust the trickster. But it seemed a dismal future, to look ahead to a life with this polite chill of uncertainty forever between her and her brother-in-law.

Thor’s intuition proved to be right, though, and Loki never appeared to join them on the terrace.

They finished eating and servants quickly began clearly the table. Feeling awkward, Jane could think of nothing to do but get out of the way. She left the room, belatedly noticing that Thor had followed her.

“What are your plans for this part of the day?” he asked her with easy curiosity, offering her his arm.

In spite of herself Jane smiled as she looped her grip around his bicep, allowing him to escort her. “Nothing much. I was planning on taking it easy until the evening got here.” In the evening, it went without saying, there would be another feast. “I’m going to hide in my room and relax with a book.”

Actually, she was planning on reviewing some notes on the laptop she’d smuggled in her suitcase, trying to see if she could resolve more proofs. But she knew better than to tell him _that_. This was her romantic vacation and she wasn’t supposed to be working.

Not even a teensy, eensy, little bit.

“Will you walk with me?” Thor requested sincerely. “I know we suffer no lack of each other these days, but it would still please me to while away a few of these morning hours in your company.”

Well, how was she going to say no to that? And she had to admit it wouldn’t hurt her to get an hour or two of sun. “Of course I will.” Her grasp on him tightened. “Did you have anywhere in mind?”

“If you have no objection, I wished to find my lady mother and pay my respects to her.”

The two of them took a path alongside the edge of the palace following the gardens, and as Jane rested her head against Thor she admired the rows of blossoming flowers and orchards teeming with fruit.

As they crossed inward, however, in search of the queen’s more private rooms, they were brought up short in surprise when across from them they were met with the sight of Loki and Darcy coming from the other way.

Jane felt Thor’s muscles stiffen beside her. She watched Loki’s expression: his eyes flashed, startled, and then his entire face became carefully neutral and passive.

Darcy was tugging him closer as she came to greet them, smiling and waving. Clearly Loki hadn’t mentioned his brother and he’d had a fight.

“Good morning,” the brunette said cheerfully. “Fancy meeting you here. How was your guys’ breakfast?”

“Hey.” Jane decided for the sake of both men to play dumb. “It was great. Where have you been?”

“Oh…we slept in late.” Darcy turned to steal a meaningful look at Loki, biting her lip as she smiled. “Ended up having a romantic breakfast in bed.”

Meeting her eyes, the corners of Loki’s mouth raised the slightest increment.

Jane caught on. “I see,” she said woodenly, unable to help the sardonic curve to her eyebrows. “You must’ve worked up quite the _appetite_.”

Darcy just laughed and, seriously, it was like she wasn’t even trying to be subtle.

“You look well today,” Thor addressed Loki. While far from hostile, his voice was too unnaturally even to read as entirely friendly.

“As do you, brother.” Loki’s reply was more smooth – but then, he was much better at covering things. “But it is to be expected of one celebrating your happy state.”

The reply was cordial, and while Jane couldn’t be fully sure she mightn’t miss one of Loki’s hidden jabs, there didn’t seem to be anything sinister or resentful at work here. If an apology wasn’t forthcoming then at least the two were acting ready to move on – or for the moment pretend nothing happened.

When Thor didn’t say anything the polite smile on Loki’s face faded. For an instant, too fast to even try and get a read on what he was thinking, his eyes flicked over to look at Jane, and then moved away again.

But in that instant, because she was paying attention, Jane felt the way the tension between the brothers ratcheted up suddenly – and then just as quickly disappeared. As if for a moment each was anticipating the other would say something.

A pensive knot twirled itself momentarily in Jane’s stomach. Interesting. Thor hadn’t told her what the fight was about because he said it wasn’t important, but a different possibility occurred to her.

Could the argument have been about _her_?

She shook herself back to awareness as she heard Thor’s voice say, “Well, good as it is to see the both of you, we should be off. Jane and I were just on our way to give morning audience to the queen.”

Loki gave a laugh that didn’t sound entirely pleasant. “Why what a coincidence,” he said wryly. “So were we.”

“Oh.” Thor managed some enthusiasm as he said, “Well then…we should go together!”

“Certainly.” Loki gestured, giving a tart smile. “Lead on.”

As they started walking Darcy locked eyes with Jane, her expression making it clear she had noticed _something_ was off. Her eyebrows were raised purposefully – Jane had gotten good at reading her.

_Whoa,_ Darcy was asking her, silently, _what the heck is going on?_

Jane shot a furtive look back and shook her head. _Never mind. I’ll tell you later._

The four of them reached what Darcy often referred to as “the inner sanctum” – and sometimes Jane called it that in her mind, because she knew the description was mostly true. If the palace was like an apple they were at the part that came right before the core. Parlors and corridors for sitting in, reading in, conversing in, but that were officially reserved for the royal family and only the highest -ranking guests. If Frigga hadn’t actually retreated to her own private chamber she would be somewhere in here.

Sure enough, rounding a corner from one ostentatiously grand hallway to the next, the very edge of a room came into view, and there was the queen in more casual day dress, seated before a writing desk with several sheets of parchment spread out in front of her. Returning letters probably; it was a task Jane knew took up a lot of her time.

Instead of continuing forward the group came to a halt, for they realized as one Frigga wasn’t alone.

There was another woman there, standing back a respectful distance as she waited for something. The two conversed but softly, subdued, inaudible from the distance.

The second woman was tall, beautiful, which was very typical for an Asgardian. Her hair was a warm golden color, like honey, and her skin was tanned. She wasn’t wearing a dress, or clothed like a servant. Instead she had on silver armor with chainmail and interlocking plates covering her from neck to feet that hung with expert craftsmanship on her feminine form. It was different from Sif’s, and Jane had never seen another lady Asgardian in full armor before.

There was a broadsword sheathed at her belt and with one arm she carried a giant shield, taller and wider than she was and teardrop-shaped.

As Frigga finished speaking and gave a motion with one hand that was obviously a dismissal, the woman bowed, clasping her hand in a fist and bringing it close to her chest while her head lowered. She got up and left the room, walking right past the four of them, briskly and businesslike, like she’d not even noticed they were there.

Jane turned her head to gaze after the stranger, puzzling, but both Thor and Loki were already making their way closer to their mother.

Frigga remained in her chair, fingers of one hand against her forehead, the other hand holding an unrolled scroll that she looked at with a frown. She acted almost like she’d been woken from a dream when she looked up and noticed she’d a new audience.

“Oh; my sons. Lady Jane. Lady Darcy.” She greeted them with a smile and her voice was warm (Darcy bobbed in an awkward curtsey) but it wavered with how she was still troubled. “A good morning to you all.”

Loki had folded his arms, hands clasping his elbows, and nodded his head to her; his face an unreadable blank that showed for the moment he had no intention of speaking.

Jane had no clue what his trepidation was – what they’d seen seemed to have the opposite effect on Thor. He was bounding nearer his mother with all the enthusiasm of a puppy.

“Mother,” he asked, so excited he rushed right past any greeting, “was that a Shieldmaid?”

He was talking about the woman that’d just left; Frigga’s smile froze on her face.

“Indeed it was,” she confirmed for him. She moved enough to indicate the letter in her hand. “She was delivering a reply from her commander to me. A slightly late response to the formal invitation to your engagement party.”

Thor tried to exchange a glance with his brother, beaming openly, all but elbowing him. Loki however didn’t look back. Keeping his eyes on Frigga he lifted his chin as if trying to read from where he stood.

“And what was the response?” he asked curiously, manner still cautiously composed and subdued.

“It was in the affirmative.”

Thor’s both hands closed into fists as he raised them in an expression of joy. “Aunt _Freya_ is coming?” he exclaimed, both surprised and elated. “She will be here? How splendid!”

He turned and looked back at Jane and Darcy, bright-eyed, as if having forgotten in his excitement they didn’t know who he was talking about, expecting them to share his reaction.

“We have not seen her in an era! Why, I can’t _remember_ how long it’s been.”

Despite being completely lost, Jane smiled and laughed a bit anyway, because Thor’s happiness was often contagious. It sounded like Freya, whoever she was, must be his favorite relative.

“Of course Freya is coming.” Gradually Frigga set the paper down, and she brought her freed hand to her temple, almost covering her eyes. It was a gesture of unhappiness and apprehension. “She goes wherever the mistress of Vanaheim does, to honor her and serve as her protection.”

Thor’s excited trembling stopped abruptly. His happy face vanished, eyes widening. He stilled.

The whole time Thor had been crowing, Loki’s expression had remained blank, not sharing the same enthusiasm but not disapproving of the news. His aloofness however left as swiftly as Thor’s joy. His spine went rigid and his mouth tightened as he went pale as a ghost.

There was a pronounced pause before Thor broke the silence.

“Aunt Nanna is coming?” The question was asked much more hesitantly and unfavorably than his other query had been.

Frigga looked up at her two children. Her eyes were full of emotion; Jane couldn’t shake the sense she was somehow apologizing.

“Yes. She will be here,” the queen said. “In a matter of days.”

It was Thor’s turn to lose color, his expression souring. He swallowed grimly before facing his brother, mouth opening, hand raised as if he might reach out to him.

But whatever Thor’s intention was he never got a chance. Without any warning Loki spun on one heel, giving no goodbye or saying a single word as he fled.

In the wake of his abrupt departure Darcy looked at the rest of them, shocked.

“What was _that_ all about?” she demanded.

Jane could certainly understand why she was mystified. “Who is Nanna, and why does Loki not want her here?”

Frigga folded her hands smoothly in her lap. “Nanna is my sister-in-law, widow of my late brother, Frey. She is the highest-ranking nobility in Vanaheim and the closest that realm has to a queen.”

“Okay,” Darcy said, still confused. “What’s the problem then?” She looked to Thor. “Was she just your guys’ least favorite aunt growing up, or what?”

Quietly Thor answered, “Nanna also lost someone else in her family, long ago, in addition to her husband: her son. Balder.”

“Oh.” Darcy spoke more softly. “That must’ve sucked. But, I still don’t get it. What does it have to do with you guys?”

“It has to do with how it was Balder lost his life,” Frigga responded evenly.

Ever since Thor had returned to Earth the second time and Jane began hearing more and more about his early adventures, she had spent a little time reading up on her mythology. She wasn’t anywhere near an expert; she just didn’t have much energy to devote to it outside her social life and her work. But it was enough that she recognized some things occasionally.

And right now, it was hitting her that Balder’s name was familiar.

“I remember reading about Balder,” she recalled out loud, the bits and pieces rushing together. “He was kind of a big deal in Norse mythology because he was the only god who had ever died. He was respected as some kind of paragon of truth and light, and he was murdered by-”

She cut off, words dying in her throat as she realized the significance.

“Yes,” Thor intoned, grim and unhappy, but unflinching. “It was Loki’s doing. It was my brother that killed Balder.”

*

After abandoning the company of the others most would have expected Loki’s desire was to be alone.

If that were the case, though, his next action would’ve been mystifying.

Instead of retreating to his rooms, or the edges of the palace grounds, or any of a dozen remote corners where he could’ve hidden all to himself, Loki made his way to a sitting room filled with nobles.

It was a space that effected to be cozy despite its high ceiling and marked size. Hung with gilt curtains and featuring a silver fountain as a centerpiece, it was a place used to meet and discuss everything from courtships to gossip to politics.

With the royal engagement party looming it was no surprise it was very full. Gaily-dressed courtiers, both of Asgard and abroad, stood together in groups or sat clustered on soft cushions, passing the time with their meaningless clatter. The room buzzed with their noise – the strange melody formed by the rise and fall of so many unconnected voices. There were rustles as men adjusted their cloaks and ladies fanned themselves or played with their jewels. Many came here acting as if they wanted to talk when all they really desired was to see and be seen.

Loki came here more often than some would’ve suspected, sometimes as himself and sometimes in disguise. He overheard things, observed people’s behavior; garnering information useful or merely amusing enough to pass the time – sometimes he might even get an idea for his next jest.

Today he wanted to be here because he knew it’d be a distraction. The distant noise and warmth around would keep him from falling too deep into thoughts that, for the moment, he simply wished to avoid.

There was no danger of being bothered in his detached brooding, either. Unless he sought out the company he’d be left to himself.

Loki was deft at finding his own little pockets of space, of being alone in a crowd.

When he entered the room heads turned his direction. A few voices faltered, enough to make a difference in the harmony, and he was marked by several stares and nervous looks. As he walked by nobles bowed to him, respectful, if some seemed occasionally begrudging in this formality.

By the time he found a place to sit it was clear he wasn’t looking for anybody and didn’t wish to be spoken to, and gradually the room returned to what it was doing, though every once in a while a glance was stolen his way.

Loki got comfortable on a cushion nearest to the wall, an isolated edge where no one moved to join him. A servant appeared to ask if he could bring him anything; though Loki was tempted to ask for wine, he requested tea.

The hours ticked by and Loki remained where he was, occasionally drawing a sip from his saucer, eyes flicking sharply over the crowd, taking in every detail yet focused on nothing.

As the time passed gradually people trickled out of the room, having business to attend to or wanting to continue their conversations somewhere else, and as the morning crept into the later hours fewer new arrivals came to take their place. By the time that the midday meal was being served across the palace in the feasting hall, Loki was the only one left.

This seeming abandonment did not at all bother him. He gave no outward sign he even noticed. By now he was on his second cup of tea, which was half-drunk and ice cold.

Loki stayed where he was, face unchanging, knuckles interlaced together gently and elbows resting in his lap. Slowly he crossed one leg at the knee over the other.

He drew in a careless breath and straightened a bit in his seat. Without turning his head, certainly without ever looking at the wall to his left, as he suddenly loosed his voice and spoke to the empty air.

“Hello, Amora. How many centuries has it been since I’ve seen _you_ last?”

There was a tinkle in the air as the tapestry hanging on the wall behind him seemed to give an airy, feminine titter.

“Oh, _Loki_.” The tapestry shifted a bit, and gradually a woman’s shape resolved itself and appeared out of nothing. “Really, you dreadful tease. How long have you known I was there?”

Loki’s eyes moved to the side enough to look at her.

“If you can’t figure it out for yourself,” he asked, low, “why should I tell you?”

Amora sniffed. But then she smirked, unbothered, and struck a pose, her hands resting just above her hips.

“It doesn’t matter, really. If anyone could see me when I was hiding, it would be you. I’m confident nobody else noticed.”

Of course they hadn’t, or they would’ve made a scene. “You should not be here,” Loki reminded her. Tilting his head he leaned at angle, watching her for reaction. “You were banished for a reason. And if the All-Father finds out you have broken those terms…”

He let his words trail off meaningfully. Amora, like him, was a student and user of magic. But her hunger for power had outweighed her common sense.

Using both mundane skills of feminine charms and a few potent love spells, Amora had seduced and enchanted many men to try and gain attention, and a few devoted servants, and eventually marry her way into a position of privilege.

Bu she’d been impetuous, careless, and greedy. She had be-spelled too many at once, making it obvious what she was doing, and then basked in her own feelings of importance when her charmed lovers went to war with one another for her favor, threatening to tear the halls of Asgard apart.

Once might have been funny. Twice was annoying. More than that was dangerous, and unforgivable the moment Amora cast her sights too high, and tried to trick her way into Thor’s embraces and thus onto Asgard’s throne.

The All-Father had cast her out and forbade her from ever returning to the palace, threatening with far worse if she dared to come back.

For years there had been no sight of her, for even Amora was not that foolish.

But Loki had always supposed that they’d not seen the last of her forever.

“And who is going to go to the All-Father and tell him?” Amora demanded, breaking him out of his reverie. “You?”

Loki gave her a considering look. “I should,” he pointed out.

Amora gave a slow smile with her painted lips, and batted her eyelashes once. “But I don’t think you’re going to,” she said sweetly.

The Enchantress could not be here for no reason: she _would_ cause trouble. And were that not pressing enough, loyalty enough should’ve demanded Loki report on her at once. But…he looked away, folding his hands together tightly, bringing them even with the base of his nose as he contemplated deeply.

He had a soft spot for Amora, even after all this time. They’d dallied in their younger days – there had even been a time when a foolish young prince had thought they could be considered friends. Before her true colors had shown, revealing her nature as a user, her only real feelings for herself.

But powerful though she was, he felt her more a nuisance than threat. And her presence appealed to the trickster in him.

They had too much in common. It would be hypocrisy for Loki to deny her chance at having some fun.

“I won’t ask what it is you’re up to, what you intend to do,” he finally told her, looking back again. “I won’t even ask how it is you got in, though I admit I’m burning with curiosity. But I want you to know this: I will be watching. And if you do anything to harm or threaten the safety of Asgard, there’ll be no hesitation before I stop you.”

“A most generous truce,” Amora simpered. “Your highness, I confess, if there’s any company I missed over the pleasures of Asgard’s palace, it was you most of all.”

She moved closer, gliding across the floor, clad in a diaphanous white gown trimmed with diamonds and gold. Wherever she had been, if she’d been reduced to a meager existence, she’d taken great pains to hide it.

She looked much like Loki remembered. Her hair was soft and yellow, falling well past her waist in waves. Her complexion was alabaster, rosy in all the right places. Her eyes sparkled with promises, her every move poised and perfumed, and if her shapely figure had changed it had been only to grow even more womanly.

Loki gave no reaction to her attempt at charming him. Undeterred, Amora crept in, and with the most earnest of expressions on her face, artfully applied as her makeup, she knelt before Loki, hands on his legs as she leaned forward and pressed herself into his lap.

“You should be more curious,” she breathed. “If you did ask…I might just be willing to tell you.”

It had been so long since they’d seen each other, and so much about him had changed in the meantime. And yet she spoke to him like she knew not of it. Her confidence was admirable.

One hand caressed the top of his thigh as she gazed up at him from beneath lowered lashes, playful.

“If you’re interested, I could let you in on my plan, and we could share in the reward.” Amora gave a fond laugh. “Remember what mischief we used to make together?”

“I remember,” Loki conceded, his voice unfeeling. “And I remember what happened after that, when you tired of mere mischief.” Gently he took her wrist in his fingers and guided her hand away from him. “We made quite the pair. It was a shame it was never meant to last – that you proved a flighty lover, and not to be trusted.”

Amora’s face creased into a disapproving, sullen pout. But there was nothing she could say to argue.

It was a good thing he had only been fond of Amora, not fully in love with her. Even without that it had stung, pride smarting when he realized he’d been tricked, that she only collected him as one prize before moving onto her next. Like so many in Loki’s young life, she’d only wanted to get close so she could step over him as she went for her real target, her interest lying not with the second shadowy prince but his golden brother.

“Do you think you’re better than me?” she asked, mistaking the reason for his ire. “It’s all well and good for you to posture, and disapprove of my desires. But like you say we are sames. I only want the chance you took for yourself, to end my exile and find a way back to the comfort I deserve.”

Despite his coolness something rankled along Loki’s spine as his understood her. “You think what I did was out of desire for pleasure, and power?” he asked, disbelieving. “That _that_ was the reason I returned, and humbled myself, and offered myself up for forgiveness?”

Amora crossed her arms. “After a lifetime of eating delicacies from platters of gold and silver, and being attended to by an army of servants, I imagine that _pride_ can be worth only so much.”

She was so, so wrong. But Loki didn’t care to try and explain it to her. He knew it was a waste of time.

“I will not aid in whatever it is you’re planning, Amora,” he told her, almost weary. “And this is the only warning you will receive.” He met her eyes severely. “My wrath will be great if you go anywhere _near_ my brother. My advice to you is forget why ever it is you came here and take this chance to enjoy the festivities in secret. Their like will not be seen again for many a time.”

Amora laughed, not listening, completely carefree. “Oh yes, nothing like them at all! Don’t worry, my prince, I intend to enjoy my time here heartily!” Her voice was teasing, gleeful. “You’ll see, soon enough.”

Loki sighed.

“I’m certain I will,” he remarked, more to himself - for disregarding of his attention or words of caution, Amora had snapped her fingers and vanished.

Loki tried to ignore a twinge of foreboding. But though he knew better, he was determined to handle this himself. No matter how her magic might’ve strengthened over the centuries, he was more than a match for Amora.

And though his loyalties had been returned to Asgard…Loki would not become some mindless _lackey_ , a dull toy soldier who jumped automatically to service its every whim. There was space between ‘loyal’ and ‘witlessly obedient’.

Loki intended to live in that space, else he begin to think the only way he could keep a hold on his home was by sacrificing every last piece of himself.

He wasn’t sure how much longer he sat in the empty room, finger tapping against his leg, mind caught as he pondered what Amora might be up to.

The sound of hurried ungraceful footsteps caused him to glance aside, and he looked up fully at once when he realized the new arrival standing there was none other than Darcy.

She was a little out of breath and disheveled. The look on her face was vexed and demanding, but most of all it was concerned.

Automatically Loki felt inside of his throat tighten.

“Finally. I’ve been looking everywhere.” Darcy went straight to his side. “What is going on with you? I mean, what the hell just happened back there? You literally ran out of the room!”

Loki followed her outstretched hand, his eyes bouncing back to her face. “I’m surprised my brother and mother didn’t explain it,” he said to her mildly. “Or did you not ask them for an answer?”

“They said some stuff.” Darcy floundered, vaguely. “But I didn’t want to get the story from them. I wanted to hear it from you.”

Loki considered her a moment and then he got to his feet. For this he wanted to tower over her, face severe as he gazed down. For this he wanted her to remember what kind of creature he was.

“What did they already tell you?” he demanded. When she opened her mouth to protest he cut her off. “I want to hear.”

He could tell Darcy’s mouth had gone slightly dry when she took her time answering. She yielded under his unblinking stare.

“They said that the reason your cousin died was because you had something to do with it.”

When he had no response at first she regained her strength, gazing at him with wide eyes, determined. “Loki, is that true? Did you really…kill him?”

“You know nothing of the mortal legend of Balder,” Loki gathered.

“I recognized the name. Kind of. I’ve been doing my best to brush up on the stories more, what with _this_ thing and all.” With a jerk of her head Darcy indicated the hidden string of Asgardian runes marked into her back.

Despite himself Loki smiled. Had it really been so long since she’d taken on her second name? The ritual had been performed so she would have the right to use the Bifrost all on her own, but what hadn’t been expected was what she’d unknowingly choose for herself: Sigyn, the very same name given to Loki’s wife in mortal mythology.

Darcy had never heard the story and no one had wanted to tell her. It was only _after_ she and Loki had finally become amorous with one another that she’d found out. She had not been pleased but, thankfully, she got over it.

Heedless to Loki’s thoughts, Darcy finished, “But it’s a lot to take in. Not everything sticks.”

“Not even the death of a god?”

“Seriously, knock it off.” Darcy set her jaw. “I don’t want to read about what some ancient Viking scholar may or may not have interpreted correctly any more than I want to be asking somebody else about this.” She reached out and wrapped one hand firmly around Loki’s arm just above his fist. “Please, for once, won’t you just give me a relatively straight answer?”

It was this stubborn persistence that Loki so admired about her, that still occasionally moved him even after all this time. Everything he was, and she talked to him like he was no more than a man; everything he’d done, and yet she came to the Liesmith and asked to hear his side of the story first.

He pulled from her, walking away.

She reached for him again. “Loki-!”

“Not here.” His voice was clipped, not harsh but very hard. He took her wrist in a firm grip, and Darcy fell speechless as she gazed up at him. “I will not discuss this with you in public.”

Darcy glanced around, making a face. “There’s no one here-”

“Nonetheless.” Loki’s voice dropped to a murmur. “If you truly want to hear this story, we will retire to my rooms.”

Darcy slid her hand out of his but she nodded, unhesitant. “Lead the way.”

He did so at once, the two of them walking side by side, pretending not to notice as she looked at his face trying to read him. Hoping that his chagrin was successfully hidden.

Loki told lies so freely, often for fun. He found nothing any more regrettable as being unable to tell a lie, of there being none left, when he knew nothing could hurt more than the truth.

*

Unbeknownst to Loki or Darcy, as they reached the former’s chamber, a nearly identical conversation was happening with Thor and Jane at the other side of the palace.

The two of them were still in the same small room the others had left. They too were alone.

Once the young couple had begun speaking, intently, eyes only on each other, quietly Frigga had risen from her chair and soundlessly crept from the room. She knew without drawing their attention, without needing to be told, this was a talk that needed to be witnessed only by the pair of them.

“Go on, Thor,” Jane told him, seriously. In an anxious gesture she folded her arms but she never looked away from him. “Please. Tell me what happened.”

Thor took a moment; she knew better than to rush him for she could tell from his face he was gathering his words, figuring out how to start.

“It happened a long time ago. When we were very young – no:” he corrected himself, expression almost pained, “when we were practically no more than children.”

He crossed over to the empty chair his mother had vacated and sat, folding his hands and looking away with a sigh heavy with recollection.

*

“We were not warriors,” Loki was saying, unaware of how his pace and wording was mirroring his brother’s. “But we wanted so badly to be taken seriously.” His eyes were a thousand miles off. “We thought of ourselves as men, when really we were nothing but boys.”

He paused for a weary exhale. His shoulders were tight. Darcy sat on the bed, watching him, listening, concerned but not daring to interrupt.

Loki stood away with his back to her, as if staring at nothing helped his memory, or perhaps he just couldn’t bear to see her face while this tale was told.

He picked up again. “We talked of nothing but battle. Of glorious adventures, the kind had by kings and their armies in the stories of old. We sang songs and we memorized odes and we thought we _knew_ what war meant. In truth, of course, we had no idea. We thought of it like a game. The most important game of all, one we couldn’t _wait_ for our turn to play.

“Every moment we had we spent at the training grounds. Day and night, whenever we could. Drilling and sparring and refining our skills and demonstrating our laughably poor efforts at strategy. How proud we were of ourselves.”

He glanced over his shoulder, looking at Darcy briefly. “By this time it was quite clear to all that I was more a mage than I ever would be a strong fighter. But even so, I was there too. Honing what little strengths I did have and endeavoring to improve.”

Loki gave a humorless smile.

“It was my brother’s obsession, you see, and I didn’t want to be left out. And so there we all were. There was Thor, and me, and Sif, and Fandral and Hogun and Volstagg.” He stopped. “And there was Balder.”

*

“Our cousin was somewhere between Loki and I in age. By rights we should have made perfect playmates,” Thor explained. “And if you had asked me then, I would’ve said it was so.”

He smiled, remembering. “Balder was smaller than me, but not too small for an Asgardian of his age. He was quick and sure-footed when we fought, and he was strong. He knew his holds when he wrestled and he was good with a bow. And win or lose, he always did so with a smile.”

Dropping his hands Thor looked at Jane somberly, his eyes clear. “I did not think much of it at the time. But Balder was more than a good fighter, a strong son. He was handsome too.”

Jane nodded automatically. “They called him Balder the Bright, right? Or at least the Viking myths did. He was said to be the most attractive out of all the gods.”

“If he had grown to manhood, I’ve no doubt he would’ve been. But he never made it that far,” Thor replied. “All he had was his time as a boy and a youth – a time when he could’ve been doted on, fawned over, within reason, without it being held against him or his parents; without it making him seem less, but more.”

“And he was, wasn’t he?” Jane guessed, soft. “Doted on, I mean.”

Thor’s answering smile was grim. “Oh yes. He was.”

 Abruptly he pushed to his feet, standing up from the chair. He paced a bit without moving too far from Jane, and when he spoke again he looked back to her.

“Balder was the only child of Lord Frey, head of the oldest noble line in Vanaheim. An only son. He was his father’s pride; and Nanna, his mother…” Thor trailed off, conflicted. “She treated him as her most precious position.”

“I would’ve thought Asgard was the kind of place that didn’t approve of families spoiling their children,” Jane had to comment, frowning. “That they’d think it would make them _soft_.”

“Under normal circumstances, yes,” Thor explained. “But it would’ve been hard to counter a man of Frey’s position, to speak out against his wife. And, if ever there was a child that Asgard would’ve agreed deserved of such a treatment, it was Balder. He was kind, and obedient, and trusted without hesitation.”

*

“He trusted without _thinking_ ,” Loki said with venom, strident. “He was _dull_. Insipid!” He shook his head in disgust then changed tunes with an aggravated smile. “Oh, but he was a gifted fighter, and stout of heart, which is all one needs to be a good son of Asgard.”

He drew one hand into a fist, face fixed in a scowl.

“He had a face like a _cherub_ ,” he recalled, muttering. “Blue eyes. Wavy brown hair like his father’s. And always a smile on his face, never mind it was often an _empty_ smile, to match the emptiness of his head underneath. Balder the Beautiful, they called him. And in-between going on about his looks, everyone talked of what a fine and noble warrior he would make. How already, he did Asgard proud.”

Darcy broke in for the first time: “I take it his existence kind of got to you.”

Her tone was a touch to one side of sardonic.

Loki gave a short self-depreciative laugh. “Perhaps it shouldn’t have,” he admitted with the wisdom of hindsight. “If anything, Balder was never cruel to me. That’s more than can be said for many, when I was that age.” He hesitated, thoughtful.

“I think…he might’ve even wanted to be friends. Though perhaps he simply wanted to be friends with everyone. Certainly, he was friends with my brother and the rest of them.”

He shook his head hard. “But at the time his kindness only rankled all the more, because it stung of pity. No; I hated him, and everyone knew it. Hated him with all the single-minded spitefulness of a child.”

*

“Like so many times before and after, I never realized how truly _angry_ Loki was,” Thor confessed. “I cannot say that my knowing would’ve made things any different. But perhaps I could’ve talked him out of what he did.”

Jane asked, “Which was what?”

Thor sighed again, shortly. His head hung low, the better to look at the floor as he peered back at him memories, frowning, brow knit with thought.

“It might have ended with Loki, and his mistake. But it began with Frey’s pride. It began with the insistent worries of Balder’s mother.”

*

“Eventually our obsession with war caught the attention of others. Elders, who knew different than us: who had lived through the sieges of Jotunheim, and knew what war was like. While we courted it, and talked in our young and unknowing way of its glory, they remembered it grimly. And some, with abject fear.”

Loki had turned his back to Darcy again, gaze fixed ahead, unblinking as his mouth moved; voice purposefully detached almost as if he read off a script written on the wall.

“Nanna was a traditional woman. Her greatest mark of honor existed in the act of bearing her son. And so when talk, the _idea_ of death in battle reached her ears, she began to fret and fuss. The fear that something would happen to her beloved child consumed her. If not through combat then by accident. She claimed she dreamed of Balder’s death every night.”

*

“No one could convince Nanna her fright was unfounded. No one could soothe her, not even her husband,” Thor said. “Finally, out of respect and concern for her desperation, she was allowed to turn to magic for relief.”

He gestured with both hands as he spoke to Jane, and she watched him, caught up in intently the tale.

“Lady Nanna went to the most respected mages of Asgard. The wisest, the oldest and scholarly who had been allowed to study the ancient arts because of their former prowess in battle. And she asked them – nay, _begged_ them, to use their powers to protect her son.

“Under her direction they wove a careful and most intricately-casted web of magic,” Thor’s voice stressed how difficult the task was, “a spell that would shield Balder, that would allow him to come to no physical harm. It was said for all its thoroughness it took a hundred days and nights, and to a man the sorcerers were exhausted when they finished. But it worked.”

“So Nanna was happy,” Jane gathered, exhaling.

“She was.” Thor nodded. “And Frey was happy. And _Balder_ was happy. All of Asgard was glad, you see, for in creating the spell, no one realized they had given us a new source of amusement.”

Jane felt her stomach sink in apprehension. This was starting to sound familiar again. “What do you mean?”

Thor laughed. But it was not a happy sound. It was hollow, and rung with a note of regret.

“Nothing could harm Balder,” he repeated. “No weapon could pierce his skin, no stone would land on him, even fire would refuse to burn so much as the edge of his cloak. At first, it was wondrous. But in a very short time it became funny. And all of us enjoyed putting the extent of the magic to the test.”

*

“They made a game out of it. Balder would take his place at the far side of the grand hall. The rest of the warriors in training would line up, one by one.” Loki drew in a deep breath. “And then, they would take turns _throwing_ things at him. And everyone would laugh when it all bounced away and Balder was left unharmed.

“It… _galled_ me,” Loki stated, words terse. “I can’t say with any honesty now if I was more bothered by the stupidity and recklessness, or if because it made Balder even more popular than before.

“Either way, it didn’t matter. I couldn’t _stand_ it. The sight of him, of _all_ of them, laughing and cheering. I had to find a way to put a stop to it.”

He paused for a few seconds. Because his back was to Darcy, she couldn’t see his face - how his eyes were stinging, threatening to water. Though perhaps some hint was still betrayed in his voice.

“I wanted to hurt him. But only to do that,” he swore. “People in those days were already calling me ‘wicked’, but I was too _young_ to be able to consciously contemplate a thing such as murder.”

Loki swallowed, steadying himself.

“In secret I did research on the spell that protected him. I knew that somehow, there had to be a weakness. Magic is such a c _omplex_ thing. Eventually, I found out that when the scholars were creating the web, as part of the ritual they asked Nanna to write down a list of every harmful thing she could think of. Every last thing. And this is what the magic they created shielded Balder from. Nothing could kill him, so long as it had been on that list.”

He breathed in through his nose. “But they forgot something. And that was the knowledge I needed. For in all their efforts to keep Balder untouchable, they had left one thing out.”

*

“Mistletoe. Out of all the plants in the forest, the trees and vines that grew under the sun, it never occurred to Nanna to think of mistletoe, for she did not see how so delicate and slight a thing could hurt her son. And none could blame her for that.”

_You do know that mistletoe is poisonous, right?_ Jane couldn’t help but think. But she didn’t say it out loud, not wanting to interrupt.

“Somehow in fixation of his spite and his need to do mischief, Loki found out this weakness. Immediately he put it to use. He got his hands on a slim branch of the wood, and in secret he carved it into a long thin pole, perfect for throwing.”

“But what could he possibly have been thinking?” Jane demanded, dismayed. “You’ve mentioned before that in the past the only bad things Loki used his magic for were pranks, but…that’s _not_ a prank. Actively seeking to cause someone injury isn’t funny. I mean, did he even consider what would happen when Balder’s secret weakness was found out by everyone _else?_ ”

“He did not,” was Thor’s simple reply. “This I would not even need to ask him to know. My brother would be greatly insulted to hear me say it, but the truth is that for all his cleverness when he becomes fixed on a goal he does not always see past what’s right in front of him. Anger and pride can cloud his judgment quite thoroughly.”

He favored Jane with a knowledgeable, self-depreciating grin. “It is, perhaps you could say, a family trait.”

Despite the grave nature of this entire discussion Jane rolled her eyes. “So I’ve noticed.”

Thor’s smile faded slowly, and he shook his head as he returned to the matter. He drew a breath and raised his shoulders.

“Loki has sworn to me time and time again he meant to cause no serious injury. In this I take my brother at his word. But it does not change that wickedness was done.

“When next we gathered to play our game, Loki slunk in to the back of the room like a shadow. He did his best to ensure none of us would notice he was even there. Indeed we took no heed, for our contest had already begun, and we were distracted by watching each other’s efforts, trading laughter and insults.”

Thor gestured absently. “Another among our age-mates was Hoder, the first son of a general. He was oft at the fringes of our group, never quite finding a foothold, for it was Hoder’s misfortune to have been born blind. He trained with us for he was otherwise able-bodied, but we all doubted him, for without sight what sort of a warrior could he make?

So while we took our turns hurling weapons at Balder, Hoder also stood aside, near the back of the assembly, and only listening. Loki drew to his side – even so early on, how _canny_ my brother was! For he knew when trouble inevitably came he did not want the blame to be placed on him directly. He tricked poor Hoder into acting as his tool.

“Loki disguised his voice and pretended he knew not what was happening, and asked Hoder why he did not join the others in our fun. Hoder replied that he had no weapon, and without sight could not be sure of his aim. ‘Oh, but I have here a small spear that will suit your purpose perfectly,’ Loki said. And from beneath his cloak, he drew the treacherous piece of mistletoe.”

*

“I helped Hoder line up his shot. I guided his arm. I made certain no one else was in the way, that it would not be intercepted; that the bolt would pierce true, straight through Balder’s shoulder.”

As he listed off the details of his guilt, Loki’s voice was completely empty.

“But I forgot: for all his infirmity, Hoder was still Asgard-born and Asgard-raised. Just because he did not carry his own weapons didn’t mean he didn’t know how to use one. And I forgot this. I forgot that he was only blind, not crippled. That he wasn’t physically handicapped, like me.” The edge of his breathing was raw. “I was _not_ strong at that age, not compared to Thor and the others. But Hoder was.

“And that made all the difference in the world.”

There was a space of perhaps half a minute in which Loki did not speak, or move, or do anything but stand there and gaze resolutely into space and at the wall in front of him.

Darcy remained in her spot sitting on the edge of the bed, leaned forward slightly, weight of her hands pressing into the mattress. Her eyes were wide as she gazed at Loki’s back, breath in her throat, voice silent.

“From his fingers, unerringly, the mistletoe flew.” Loki drew up his shoulders, arms falling to his sides, fists uncurling. “And it passed right through the protective layer of enchantments. But instead of only going in a small amount, at most a troublesome injury enough to startle him, the spear impaled Balder straight through. And instead of striking his shoulder it wavered a little to the left, and wound up in the side of his neck.”

Loki’s gaze dropped down to the floor, his eyes still just as empty and unreadable.

“It was the first time in my life,” he remarked, almost musing, “that I had ever seen so much blood.”

Slowly, oh so slowly, he turned around. He watched Darcy’s expression, waiting for something: whether it was encouragement or disapproval could not be said.

But Darcy still said nothing. She only kept her wide-eyed gaze in place, face lined with concern for him.

Loki spoke his conclusion quickly, to keep himself from shuddering, or shaking. “And so that is how Balder died. That is how…”

*

“…that is how Loki killed Balder,” Thor finished.

He remained standing, but his head hung low, as if he was mourning his cousin’s death and the unfortunate circumstances of it still.

Jane waited until the air didn’t feel so thick before asking, “But then what happened to Loki afterward? And to Hoder, for that matter?”

“Hoder…was never the same. Before he had been withdrawn: after he became fully morose, consumed by melancholy. Even though he was not at fault he never forgave himself for the role he played. As soon as he came to manhood he went on a long journey of self-appointed penance. I am sorry to say he did not survive.”

Jane nodded, mouth set thinly. “And Loki?” she repeated.

“Our aunt and uncle demanded justice. But our father investigated, and deemed it had been truly an accident, and thus there was nothing to be done.” Thor hesitated. “I daresay many did not fully believe it, but what could be said against the word of the All-Father? Frey and Nanna had no choice but to accept.”

“But they never forgave your family for what happened,” Jane concluded.

“I couldn’t say what they did, for after that we never saw them again. They retreated to Vanaheim. None of them have returned since. I do not think Mother has even been in communication with our aunt Nanna. The only time she visited home in the intervening centuries was at the death of her brother, to attend Frey’s funeral.”

Thor clenched his hands together in a movement seemingly born out of purposeless anxious energy.

“The rest of Asgard went on, and we did our best to put what Loki had done out of our minds,” he said blearily. “I think we were all in some state of shock over it. Such a murder within our walls, committed by one of our number against another, was in our minds unheard of, unthinkable. It became a distant, curtained chapter of the past we all forgot.”

Jane moved closer to Thor and reached for him. She touched her fingers and palm to his brow, to the side of his cheek, before dropping to rest her hand on top of his.

She squeezed his hand reassuringly, thumb stroking the back of his wrist in a soothing manner, as if to apologize for her words when she said:

“But now that part of the past is coming back to haunt you.”

*

Darcy kept right on sitting where she was, muscles rigid. She felt nervous, unsettled by everything she had just heard, for a whole variety of reasons.

Part of her wanted to go and hug Loki, to try and offer him that reassuring physical contact that sometimes he so desperately needed. But she held off, because she wasn’t sure yet if it was okay or not to approach him. If he’d reject her attempts; if doing so would only make things worse.

That rationalization couldn’t change how much she hated to see the look that was on his face. How it kind of scared her.

There was pain there in his eyes, but everything around had gone so hard, as if he was striving to hold it all into place.

But finally Darcy had to break the silence.

“Is there anything else?” she asked him in a near-murmur.

Mouth in a line, gaze fixed on her so rigidly his pupils never moved while the rest of his head swung, Loki shook his head at the question.

“No. Concerning Balder, that is the whole sorry tale.” He crept closer to her, bending slightly so it was easier for him to keep her eyes in line with his own as he peered into them deeply. “But do you not understand now? Why the queen and Thor took such pause? Why the Lady Nanna visiting can bear no good portents?”

Her mouth dry, Darcy knew the question was laughable even as she asked, “Do you think she’s still mad?”

“Does she not have the right to be? Legacy is everything to those in power. By what I did, accident or no, I destroyed that. I ended their family’s lineage.”

Loki finally looked away, eyelids lowering heavily as he sank next to her on the bed.

“Nanna is a mother who outlived her child. The Norns prophesied it wasn’t the last that had been seen of Balder; that a life such as his must resurface within the confines of Yggdrasil one way or another,” Loki muttered from one side of his mouth. “But I do not think that gave his parents much comfort.”

Gingerly Darcy put her hand on his shoulder. Beside the ridge of his collarbone his muscles felt tight, knotted. “If your aunt’s so pissed off then, why is she even coming?”

“I have no idea,” he told her. “With no living connection between us not formed by marriage, Nanna could very well find it within her rights to ignore her late husband’s family.” He lifted a weary gaze.

“Frey did not survive his son by long. The war with Jotunheim had ended but there were still occasional border disputes – and as Lord of Vanaheim it was Frey’s duty to attend to them. He went out to fight the Frost Giants and was carried home on his shield. Some say what truly felled him was grief; he was a better soldier than to have lost so slight a battle.”

Darcy didn’t state the obvious: if Balder’s death had been somehow what led to Frey getting killed, then Nanna could think that was Loki’s fault too.

Her husband and her son, both dead because of her nephew. No wonder that branch of the family was estranged.

There was clear trepidation in Darcy’s voice when she asked Loki, “What do you think is going to happen when she gets here?”

“I don’t know.” Loki stared at his hands. Weaving his fingers together, he curled them upward as if to study them. “But one thing is certain. There will be no avoiding her when she does.”


	2. Apples of Discord

Vanaheim had once been entirely a holding of Asgard, the first of the Nine Realms to be settled and conquered in the unruly days of kings of ancient times long past.

Of all realms it was they who could the least be considered truly ‘separate’. Time and distance had allowed Vanaheim to keep slightly different custom, but they bowed to no leader other than that of Asgard’s, and belonged to no race other than Asgardian. They were one people, separated only by the distance of two worlds.

A daunting enough limitation at the outset, but in reality a small gap to be crossed.

The journey from Vanaheim to Asgard’s capital had never at any point in history been a comparatively long one, and now with the Bifrost restored it was nothing at all. When Frigga had said they could expect the convoy from Vanaheim to arrive in a matter of days, she had spoken only the truth.

It was now not even a full week later, and that very afternoon the guests from Vanaheim would put in their appearance. Most of the palace was abuzz with interest and excitement in the proceedings.

Thor however, could not help but look on the situation with a goodly amount of dread, a feeling he was certain was mirrored in sentiment by the rest of his family.

Not that any of them openly shared these feelings, even amongst each other. But Thor knew his parents: after the centuries he’d gotten fairly adept at reading them. The All-Father had become notably more quiet and serious, a look on his face often that indicated he’d withdrawn into contemplation. Frigga did her best to quietly reassure her sons while all the while nursing her own anxious uncertainty.

And Loki…how Loki was handling things, what he felt, Thor could not say. It was easy to guess he had his own thoughts of foreboding on the matter, but he kept his emotions too carefully guarded to be seen. And he would not speak of it with his brother.

In fact in the days intervening since they’d heard the news, Loki had barely spoken to Thor at all.

In anger Thor was so like the storm he embodied. There would be audible rumblings and grumblings as tension began to build, a visible growing darkness as a sign of warning. And then sudden and violent would be the fury unleashed, threatening to tear through all in its path, unstoppable until everything blew over.

But if his temper burned harsh as a lightning strike, it came on and was dismissed just as suddenly – one single blinding searing burst, and then it was no more.

Had the circumstances been even slightly different, Thor may not have _remembered_ that he and his brother had quarreled. But the things that’d been said were not of the sort so easily taken back.

Now though he mainly wished he and Loki had not fought at all.

He had no more understanding of what caused Loki to bring up the subject he did than he had at the time, and the memory still upset him. But it did not concern him greatly anymore, having been supplanted by Nanna and Freya’s imminent arrival, and Thor regretted that the conversation lingered as barrier between them, when he wanted nothing so much as to lend an ear to his brother’s woes.

Loki would not confide in him, however, and Thor was left feeling helpless and adrift.

No matter, he told himself. He had never needed Loki’s permission to offer aid or sympathy. There was no telling what would happen once their aunts arrived, but Thor would be there regardless.

Come what may he would support his brother.

The hours ticked by. Thor stood anxiously at the top of an archway mounted above two flights of stairs overlooking the throne room. Banners had been strung and carpets laid out, a wide expanse of polished space cleared for what was expected to be the many members of court that’d seek the honor of being present to witness the Vanaheim nobility’s arrival.

Thor himself was in his best finery, full regalia with battle armor and billowing cape. He pressed both his palms into the stone atop the arch’s walls and looked down.

At the farther side of the balcony his mother and father waited with him, silent and patient. They too wore their best. The All-Father had on his gleaming helmet and held Gungnir at his side, and his queen looked resplendent in a gilt-lined dress, her hair well off her neck in a style piled over her head. Their relatives would be there soon and it was their duty to greet them together with due pomp and formality.

There was only one member of the royal family that wasn’t present, and that was Loki.

Thor squeezed his hands tighter against the arch. Where _was_ he? True, there were several hours to go, but it did them well to be able to stand together as they waited. Why did Loki dismiss them by not putting in an appearance?

He’d put off going to find Jane in order to be with him, Thor thought peevishly. The least Loki could do was be prompt. Such tardiness was unlike him…

Or worse, meant he was up to something.

“Ah, here we all are,” a familiar voice drawled breathily from the doorway behind them. “Am I really the last? My most profound apologies are offered for keeping their royal highnesses waiting.”

It was Loki’s voice – but it was _not_. Thor at once spun around, eyes wide, shoulders going preemptively rigid in disbelief.

He _couldn’t_ have…not even Loki would _dare_ …

His brother stood there in the female guise he was sometimes fond of taking.

Perhaps his entrance being so delayed was explicable, for obvious alterations aside it could’ve taken no short time to get dressed. Where Loki had found such feminine finery was something Thor couldn’t think on.

The gown was deep jade green, rich fabric flowing over form with enough closeness for alluring flattery. Slender leather gloves covered from fingers to elbow, a dark woven underdress bearing a pattern that effected chainmail. Long black hair brushed until it fell in elegant waves, tresses decorated with small golden ornaments. A finely-lined cloak was pinned to the shoulders and trimmed with fur. There was even a headpiece fit snug against Loki’s crown, with two great horns that swept backward, identical in design to the ones from his helmet.

It was a very regal effect, and most becoming. No fault to be found save the most obvious: the appearance was _not_ Loki’s own, not his true form. To take his place on such a formal occasion wearing it would be shocking.

Thor strode toward him. “What insult is this?” he demanded. “Have you taken leave of your senses, brother? Revert to yourself, at once!”

Loki favored him with a detached look, head tilted so despite Thor’s height he appeared to be looking down past his nose at him.

“Remind yourself, Thor, that though I respect you I do not follow your every command,” Loki said loftily, voice soft. “It is not your place to give me orders.” He spread his arms. “Besides, I fail to see what insult my appearance could garner. Am I not suitably attired for greeting royal guests?”

“You know better than this,” Thor huffed. “It is one thing to parade through the palace in one of your many disguises. But to sully an occasion such as this by wearing the wrong shape is to degrade yourself and make a mockery! You know that Father has more than once directly forbid it.”

The instant the words fell from Thor’s lips, unthinking, he froze. Loki’s own mouth pressed together hard as he clenched his jaw, and his eyes flickered aside towards their parents.

Frigga had her hands clasped together; used as she was to Loki’s charades her expression was markedly calm, but there seemed a hint of nervousness as she looked to her husband.

The All-Father’s face was completely unreadable.

What Thor had said was true. Though it could be said the All-Father put up with much from Loki, both in terms of disrespect and what was simply outrageous, there were lines he refused to let his son cross. And one had always been that Loki was not allowed to shapeshift if he was going to putting in an appearance somewhere that represented the throne or the royal family. To do so, the king had stated, would be bandying about falsehood in a way that spoke ill of the crown, and he wouldn’t have it.

The three of them waited, silent, as Odin gazed upon Loki’s current shape. Loki looked back with perfect composure, but heated self-righteousness in his eyes – and Thor realized he was _daring_ him to say something.

Finally, Odin spoke. There was tiredness and disapproval clear in both his face and voice.

But he only said, “If this is how you wish to be seen in public and for the first time in centuries by your aunts, then so be it. You are old enough now that it’s no affair of mine.”

He turned his back and without another word, without so much as a sigh, left the vicinity.

Thor let out the breath he’d been holding.

“You are lucky Father is in an indulgent mood,” he turned to say to his brother, pettishly. But at the look on Loki’s face he stopped dead, and whatever else words he had were lost to silence.

Loki’s eyes were wider, and he stared off in the direction that’d last held Odin’s retreating back, unaccountably angry.

Frigga reached for his arm. “He didn’t want to upset you,” she gathered, her tone soothing.

Loki pulled away from her. “This is how he treats me now, and thinks it an improvement?” he bit out, cheeks high with color, body shaking with hurt rage. “As if he should never say _anything?_ As if I cannot even be disciplined, else I break, my being so fragile as glass?”

Before their mother could reach for him again, or say anything, Loki whirled away and he too stalked off and left them.

Thor stood there, speechless and uncomfortable, his hands uselessly at his sides.

Frigga gazed off into the space Loki had occupied. Then slowly she turned to face her older son. She met his eyes and if only by a fraction, her composure crumbled.

“Oh, Thor,” she exhaled, carrying a note of misery. She came closer to him, her turn to look at the great hall far down below them, with a mournful face.

“This is supposed to be such a _happy_ occasion for you,” she lamented. She shook her head with a brief, rueful smile. “But now no one in our family is happy.”

Thor placed his hand gingerly on her shoulder, and she moved and let him embrace her.

“Don’t worry, Mother.” He tried to be comforting. “I’m sure that somehow, everything will turn out all right.”

*

While the royal family gathered and most of those employed in the palace hurried to put the finishing touches on preparations, the two lady guests from Midgard were left to their own devices.

Knowing she wouldn’t be seeing Thor until later, Jane had a quick and small breakfast, before pulling out her hidden cache of papers and calculations to eagerly get in a chance for some work.

Before she’d made as much progress as she’d have liked, however, she was dragged from her room by a team of polite but persistent handmaidens for a perfumed bath, the equivalent of a few spa treatments, and to dress her hair before the visitors arrived.

Being that Jane was after all the crown prince’s fiancée, she would be waiting on the dais alongside him when they greeted the ambassadors from Vanaheim.

And while they could admire that naturally she was a beautiful woman, some of the more ‘refined’ Asgardians at the palace were of the opinion she was tragically lax in attending to her appearance. She’d need to be trained into putting on a little polish if she was to one day make a worthy queen – in the meantime, though, the more pressing concern was making her look good enough for the guests.

At the same time Jane was being begrudgingly pampered, a restless Darcy was wandering the palace.

She’d awoken that morning in her guest bedroom to find Loki had already left her, and so far she’d seen no sign of him. In addition to her wayward boyfriend she had yet to cross paths with anyone else she knew, either.

Darcy sighed. Funny how in-between being rushed to state dinners and formal dress parties, there were plenty of opportunities to get bored.

She could always find _someone_ to talk to, if she wanted. All she had to do was locate a cluster of Asgardians and sit down – the snobs who looked down on her for being human were way outnumbered by those that found her fascinatingly entertaining for her ‘exoticness’. Not to mention the brownnosers eager to get closer to the royals through her favor.

But today Darcy wasn’t in the mood to explain YouTube or get her ass kissed. Maybe she was feeling homesick or something, because all she wanted was to do something _relatively_ normal.

Winding her way down yet another giant and mostly indistinguishable corridor, her expression brightened when she finally spotted a pair of familiar faces.

Volstagg was standing there with his wife, and the two of them looked to be in the middle of a quiet conversation. Oblivious to the fact that maybe they wanted to be alone, Darcy waved at them and hurried over.

“Hey, you guys!” She beamed at her friends, relieved. “How are you both doing today?”

Though her sudden arrival startled him, Volstagg gave no sign at being annoyed by the interruption. He returned her greeting with a boisterous one of his own, reaching forward to hug her.

“Well, if it isn’t Darcy! What a pleasant surprise. Funny how in spite of the length of your stay, it seems we’ve scarcely had a chance to get a glimpse of you!”

“Yeah.” When he released her and she could breathe normally again, Darcy gave a slight roll of her eyes. “They’ve been keeping me and Jane pretty well monopolized with all the ‘guest of honor’ stuff.” Her gaze shifted to Siún. “How about you, lady? How have you been?”

The noblewoman gave a shy but warm smile.

“I have been quite well, thank you. There days I have more than a few complaints but…” with one hand she meaningfully patted her stomach, “None that can be unexpected.”

“I’ll bet.” Darcy eyed Siún’s hugelypregnant belly. Her own frame might have been slight and slender but junior clearly took after his daddy. With such a big baby bump tacked into her tiny body, Siún had to be pretty uncomfortable. “When are you due to pop? It _has_ to be soon.”

“It should be any day now.” Siún’s voice was notably quieter as she answered. A grim look passed onto Volstagg’s face.

Darcy looked between the two of them, puzzled. “What gives? Don’t tell me something’s wrong with the baby,” she asked, worried. She knew how happy the rapid onset pregnancy had made both of them: and to think she hadn’t thought it possible for the couple to grow any sickeningly sweeter.

“No.” Siún glanced down at her stomach and rubbed her hand in a circle. “He is hale and healthy. Which unfortunately is something of the problem.”

“We’ve just come from a visit with the healers and the midwife,” Volstagg explained. “They’re of the opinion our child has grown too big for Siún to pass naturally from her body.”

“It seems a Mermish wife is not well-suited to the task of bearing Asgardian children.” Siún managed a thin sardonic smile that twisted into a brief grimace. “The only recourse is birth by the knife.”

Darcy was plagued for an instant by the horrifying thought of Jane having to deal in the future with a proportionally Thor-sized pregnancy. She shook it off to focus on the couple in front of her.

“Is that such a problem? Getting a caesarian, I mean. My mom had to get one when she had my little brother and it sounded like everything was okay – don’t get me wrong, she also said it _sucked_ , and that she was glad it was with her last kid because otherwise she’d have had to keep getting them every time…” Darcy trailed off, swallowing. “It’s not like, super dangerous when they do it here, is it?” she demanded tightly. “Because I know you guys have your super fancy alien technology and all, but if you haven’t caught up enough with modern medicine to minimize the risks of childbirth-”

She was saved from having to move her plans to kidnap Siún back to Earth for a trip to a _real_ hospital from anything beyond a rough sketch when Volstagg cut her off.

“No, no,” he assured her heatedly. “It is nothing like that. In all likelihood, all will be fine.”

“There are always risks, that’s all,” Siún stated. “Birth is not an easy task, and only so many promises can be made. But I’m not worrying. Or at least, I’m trying not to.”

With both hands on her stomach and a peaceable expression on her face, it struck Darcy that of the two _she_ was probably the one acting the least nervous.

Her observation was backed up when Volstagg rested his hands on his wife’s shoulders, giving them a brief squeeze, anxiety visible while he absently pressed a kiss to her neckline.

“I know, I know. I’m trying not to fret so, my love, but it simply can’t be helped,” he told her. “They say everything will turn out for the best, but the thought of something happening to you…it would be unbearable.”

Siún gave him a reassuring smile and patted his cheek. The look of concern on Volstagg’s face for his wife was touching.

“Look, I’m sure everything will be fine,” Darcy broke in, trying to help. “It sure sounds like they know what they’re doing. Just think – in no time at all, you’ll have a happy, very bouncy baby boy.”

The couple both smiled at that, eyes lighting up as they looked to that future.

“Your firstborn son,” Siún reminded Volstagg softly.

“ _Our_ son,” he corrected her, slipping his fingers around her hand. More abashed, he confessed, “Though I wouldn’t mind if he took after me a little.”

Siún laughed, and indicated the size of her belly. “I think he already does!”

Darcy stayed quiet for the moment as she watched the pair interact, pleased to think how she was looking at the start of what was sure to be a great, loving family.

*

Loki sat in his room, settled deep into a high-backed armchair, one hand gripping the armrest while the other stroked his lip in thought.

He was still in female guise, clothes and appearance unchanged from his earlier confrontation with the rest of his family. Though from an outside perspective the difference may have seemed to matter little, maybe as nothing but a pointless source for invoking argument, Loki intended to hold the form for a little ways yet.

He drew himself straight and then stood up. Silently he went to where there was a small circular mirror hung on the wall. Loki mainly used it for scrying, but it certainly suited to a secondary more practical purpose as well.

Turning his head this way and that, he examined his face in the reflection with detached scrutiny.

How Loki reacted to the way others thought of him was a complex matter. He both cared, and did not, what they had to say. He was too proud to bend, to make himself into something he could not and did not wish to be – but to say he never felt the stings of the insults and the whispers would be an utter lie.

Sometimes he pulled his back straighter and acted like he couldn’t hear them. Sometimes he turned and looked his naysayers in the eye and dared them to repeat their words to his face. Sometimes he corrected his behavior in line with convention; sometimes he went off and did the very opposite thing, making himself appear worse out of spite and a deep-rooted need to prove how little hold the opinion of others had on him.

And then every once in a rare while, sometimes all he wanted to do was run and hide himself away.

It was very silly, he well knew. Childish. And probably no one would see and understand its true purpose, but that didn’t matter so long as it made him _feel_ better.

For the shape-change he now wore was a mask he could crouch behind, a protective shield to stand between him and the cold ire he could only imagine was coming his way once his bereaved aunt gazed upon him.

It was him, but it was not. And so it would hurt a little bit less when she looked at him.

And Loki needed that petty comfort right now; it would conversely make him feel less weak, to be able to stand next to his brother composed like nothing mattered.

He stopped twisting his neck and pressed painted fingernails to the curve of one cheekbone, expression blank and pensive as he took in the finely-formed face in the mirror in front of him.

He couldn’t remember when last it was he had lived in another form for so long, for anything more than a few days. And around so many who knew him, so much of what was already familiar too. This would be interesting.

But he doubted that it would make him seem so much less in others’ eyes. After all, was he not a murderer, a liar, and a sorcerer? What additional shame could living for a while as a woman bring?

Leaving the mirror Loki returned to his previous seat, dropping down heavily to sink into it as he had before. An arched darkness formed over his brow as he became lost in thoughts, brooding.

There came a knock at his door that he didn’t bother to answer. He had the sense it was Darcy. If so, she didn’t need his help to enter.

The spells Loki cast over his door in addition to the locks would keep out anyone when he was not in the mood to be disturbed, even the king and queen of Asgard. But a short time ago when Darcy’s comings and goings had become more frequent, and their relationship more intimate, he made one significant alteration.

_“If ever you find yourself on the other side of my door and know I am within,”_ Loki had explained to her, _“simply take the knob in your hand and press inward. If I’m not in a mood to resent the intrusion, my magic will permit you entry.”_

After knocking a third time and still getting no response, Darcy seemed to decide it was time to give that a try. Loki had been hoping to speak to her anyway – his door opened easily under her hand.

“Hello?” Darcy slipped through, letting it swing shut behind her. “Anybody home? Oh, there you are-”

Her countenance brightened when she spotted him at his perch on the chair, then twisted in surprise when she was what form he was in.

“Oh. Uh, okay.” Darcy’s brow creased and she frowned. “I guess I know better than to ask why you decided to be a chick today.”

Loki smiled at that, if only for a moment. “I have my reasons,” he promised her, simply, “but they are not ones I think you would understand.” It was more than he’d be willing to say to any other.

He stood, moving in a slightly different manner than usual, so his female self glided rather than walked and possessed an effortless elegance in every gesture. Loki was committed to his illusions.

He embraced Darcy’s face, hand just beneath her chin as if she was some cherished work of art, though where usually he’d have used his palm now he touched her with only the tips of his fingers, and was careful not to scratch her with his nails.

He gave her a half-lidded look of restrained but certain fondness. “Did you sleep well?”

Versed as she was in his idiosyncrasies Darcy handled this all mostly with ease. “Yeah. No complaints.” As Loki dropped his hand and moved away slightly, she considered his face.

“I would try and kiss you, but I don’t want to smear your makeup.” Darcy gave a sullen look. “You know, you being so good at giving me fashion tips sometimes is starting to make a lot more sense.”

Loki laughed merrily. “I looked like this when you first met me,” he reminded her. Not to mention all the times she’d seen it since. She could hardly pretend to be surprised.

“Your lady-self had leaves in her hair the first time I saw her, and then spent the next couple days borrowing my t-shirts! I’m not used to seeing you so…glam.” She gave him a considering onceover. “Or, I don’t know, femininely regal. It’s kind of like the Evil Queen, but in a good way.”

“Are you so certain of that, my little princess?” Loki teased her. He moved closer, leaning in, smirking. “After all, I can be so very wicked.”

Darcy chuckled. “I guess I should get used to hearing that,” she remarked.

He stopped, frowning. “Used to hearing what?”

“‘Princess’. I mean…I might as well, right?” Her manner grew more serious. “The way people act, I’m as good as promised to you already. I know that everyone expects-”

“What everyone expects should mean nothing to you, Darcy,” Loki insisted, sharp. There was a nervous twist in his gut. “Don’t let yourself feel as if you are being pressured by expectations, or worse, _fate_.”

She pulled a face at him, dismissive. “I know, I know: you didn’t want me to find out about the ‘Sigyn’ thing because you were afraid I might freak out. I remember. But – come on.”

She walked forward a few strolling paces, hands raised in an extension of a shrug.

“I’m happy to live in the now, and I’m not trying to fast-forward through anything. Believe me. But, in all honesty: where else do you see this going? You and me.” She smiled. “We were together before we were even ‘together’. No wonder everyone basically assumes we’re destined to tie the knot ourselves.”

He supposed on some level he should find this romantic.

But Loki physically pulled away from her, flinching. Not so much against the idea of predestination it invoked, but because of something else...he _rebelled_.

He cared so much for Darcy – and the thought of her becoming his wife, of spending an eternity trapped beside him, repulsed him. Happy as it would make him, she deserved better than that.

Not to mention it simply didn’t seem possible it could happen: that he could have, and hold, such happiness. Not in his experience. Far more likely something would go wrong. Terribly wrong.

And when it did, there would be so much pain, and devastation.

Loki whirled away, heart pounding, putting his back to her as he was unable to look at her face.

“Whoa, what’s with you?” he heard Darcy exclaim behind him. “What’s wrong? Was it something I said?”

Loki drew a breath slowly, waiting for his heart to settle. When he spoke again his voice was stiff, but calm.

“I would be careful of treating such a thing as inevitable. You never know what might come to pass.”

Without looking still he could sense the dismay, the hesitance that flickered across Darcy’s face. “What?”

“One must be practical,” Loki continued, in the same hollow and odd tone. He felt – and it sounded – as if he was speaking from very far away. “So much can change, in so very little time.” He turned just enough to look at her from the corner of one cool eye.

“Look to your own mortal lifespan. One moment you’re barely more than an infant – the next moment, you’re dead.”

Darcy’s fists reflexively clenched, and her expression showed her as clearly offended.

“I’m sorry if I frightened the inner commitment-phobe in you by bringing up marriage,” she managed. “I wasn’t asking for a ring and a registry at Barney’s.” She breathed in tightly. “I can understand you getting spooked, but that doesn’t give you license to act like a total dick.”

“I’m not doing anything of the kind,” Loki replied. “I’m merely stating facts.”

“Stating them in a _dickish_ way,” Darcy retorted. “What’s the matter with you? Are you trying to pick a fight?”

_Yes,_ Loki thought, his heart sinking, though of course he didn’t say so.

This wasn’t how he’d wanted this conversation to go. What he’d _meant_ to do was explain he was worried what could happen if Nanna found out about her; that for fear of her getting caught in the crossfire he wanted her to stay hidden away.

But more important than her understanding why was the fact he _needed_ to create space between them. And right now it looked like this would be the fastest way of reaching that goal.

“All I want,” Loki continued in a calm voice that was meant to infuriate, “is to caution you against setting your hopes too high.”

Darcy’s eyes flashed as she glared at him. “Because you might get tired of me. Is that what you’re saying? Right: because I’m the human, and you’re the god.” She wiggled her fingers. “And Thor’s wacky fetish aside, it’s not like you’re going to actually settle for me in the end. Because _that_ would be totally crazy.”

Her sarcasm was biting, bitter. She had every right to be angry for him being so casually, cruelly dismissive of her, with absolutely no provocation at all.

“I was mostly kidding before. But you know what, I was right. You _are_ a commitment-phobe,” Darcy declared. “You and I were friends for over a year and even _that_ made you want to go running in the other direction, because being tied down to anyone, in any way, gets in the way of your game-plan and all your i _ssues_.”

She was right, and _that_ hurt. She was usually more self-editing in her observations of him, knowing there was only so much he could take.

But he wouldn’t let himself get too mad with her. After all, he had started it. He wanted to push her off; evidently this was the price he had to pay.

Loki put his back to her again, bringing his arms back as he clasped one wrist in the other hand’s fingers. His pose that universally read as _‘I’m thinking; you are beneath my notice’_. It got under just about everyone’s skin.

“If it’s all the same to you,” he told her without looking, “I would prefer it if you didn’t join us on the dais later on today.”

He knew that Darcy’s mouth had opened though no sound came out. The statement he’d just made would leave her gaping.

The implications would land like a load of stones. He was rescinding an invitation he’d already given her – rejecting the notion that she belonged anywhere near him or his family, as a friend or a guest or anything else.

And Loki knew well how hard it could hit, to suddenly find one’s self stripped of all belonging.

Darcy’s voice was brittle and raw, a hoarse whisper full of disbelief. “Are you breaking up with me?”

An invisible fist found Loki’s heart and squeezed. Even for her safety, he couldn’t do something so absolute. Not like this.

“No,” he assured her, though he still acted far too cavalier. “I only think that right now, we could use some space from one another.”

He waited, breathing shallow, gaze fixed in front of him, for her to give some kind of response.

Finally Darcy recovered her wits enough to offer it. “Fine,” she bit out. “You know what, that’s just – fine. You want your space, I’ll give it to you. I hope you enjoy it.”

She stormed past him in the wrong direction to be heading toward the door – when Loki caught a glimpse of her coming back carrying a hanger draped in lavender fabric, he remembered too late she had left her gown for today’s occasion hanging in his closet. Probably the whole reason she’d come looking for him was to seek his help in putting it on. Some of their fashion’s more complex creations still thwarted her.

He turned around, intending enough of a reprieve to offer his assistance – he could do that much, certainly – but he held his tongue at the look on her face.

Darcy fumed as she clutched the garment to her chest, halfway balling it up, wrinkling it.

“I don’t know what your problem is today,” she told him, snapping. “I don’t know _why_ all of a sudden you’ve decided you need to do this. But pretty soon, you’re going to change your mind. That part I know for sure. And because I know that this is just the way it is with you sometimes, I’m going to take it. But you’d better remember this: when you decide that you’re sorry – and you will – before you come looking for me, you’d better make sure you’re ready to offer up a _huge_ apology.”

She tensed for an instant, casting a look over him full of frustration. “God! Sometimes you can act like such a crazy… _bitch!_ ”

And on that note she made herself scarce, exiting rapidly and slamming the door behind her.

Loki held his muscles perfectly still. The only reaction he allowed himself in response was a single blink.

*

Sif, unlike many of those she kept as her fellows, was not in the habit of vanity.

But she did like to be seen as _presentable_. And on formal occasions, she would do no less than demonstrate the amount of honor that was deserved.

This morning in particular she arose early, so she would have time to get her sparring in, before bathing thoroughly and giving her armor an extra polish.

The Shieldmaids of Vanaheim were a group that Sif especially respected and admired. After their having been away from Asgard’s halls for so long, she was as excited now to catch a glimpse of them as she had been when she was a little girl.

So excited, in fact, that after a scarce few hours passed restlessly inside the palace, she decided that she couldn’t simply _wait_.

Shield on her arm and glaive in her hand, sword in her sheath, so that any who saw her might think she was going for a round at the practice ring or a quick tour of guard duty, she headed off toward the gate leading out into the city. To the road that went straight to the Bifrost.

“Where are you going?”

Sif started at the voice, unexpected as it was. She’d fancied herself alone.

She turned around to notice her human friend Darcy sitting on a bench at the bottom of a pillar, leaning forward with her chin in her hands. Sif’s quick appraisal was that she looked glum.

“I was going to sneak out,” Sif admitted, both unconcerned as to Darcy’s response and not especially remorseful for her actions. “Make my way to the Bifrost for a first glimpse of our noble guests as they arrive.” She looked off in that direction then favored her friend with a thoughtful frown. “What are you doing here?”

This was the very edge of the palace lawns, much further than most guests ever bothered coming as there was nothing here to offer amusement. A scant few feet more and Darcy would’ve been within the city. It was alarming to think the mortal might have been trying to sneak out unescorted.

Darcy only shrugged her shoulders, though. “Nothing. Guess I just wanted to clear my head.”

There was still something sullen and gloomy about her countenance. Sif took a more scrutinizing look.

 She had already been dressed for the ceremony, in a very frothy color of purple that Sif would’ve abhorred but seemed to flatter Darcy’s complexion. She looked nice enough, though her gown was slightly wrinkled along the hemline, and her hair had been partially braided at the sides and tucked in with a few small flowers, a style Sif didn’t think Darcy normally would’ve agreed to.

Someone else had probably helped her: someone without much concession to Darcy’s own taste. That almost certainly ruled out Loki. Added to the irate cloud over Darcy’s head and the safest bet was that she and Loki had quarreled.

Sif suppressed a sigh. She knew better than to ask for details, or even let on that she knew.

She only hoped Loki would come to his senses soon and make amends for whatever trouble he had caused.

“I will leave you to your contemplations,” Sif said, with a thin wry smile.

But Darcy looked up. “No, wait. I’d like to come with you. If that’s okay. I just want to… _go_ somewhere, you know?”

Sif didn’t object to the company – but she frowned doubtfully. “Is it a rather long walk,” she pointed out, warning.

“That’s fine.” Darcy was already getting to her feet. “I could always use the exercise.”

Seeing she wasn’t to be deterred, Sif shrugged, and they set off together.

Having experienced travelling with Darcy in tow before, Sif expected the other woman to start complaining after they’d walked at least part of the way. But Darcy surprised her by staying doggedly silent even as she huffed and puffed a bit to match Sif’s pace.

“These Shieldmaids that everyone keeps talking about,” Darcy questioned, after Sif had taken pity and slowed enough that she could catch her breath; “What’s the deal with them?”

“They are an elite group,” Sif was more than happy to explain. “Native to Vanaheim, and their highest fighting force. They are also a female-only group of warriors which, you may have noticed, is rare on Asgard.”

Darcy gave her a pointed look. “Yeah. No kidding. So when you decided you wanted to wrestle with the boys instead of playing with dolls, why didn’t you just join them? Seems like it would’ve been a lot easier.”

“It’s not so simple. Not just anyone can become a Shieldmaid. They serve the nobility of Vanaheim and thus must be of their set. One must be born to the right family. They do not accept outsiders.”

“So they’re like the knights of Feudal Europe,” Darcy observed, and if Sif didn’t understand that she followed what she said next. “It’s just not about how good you are. It’s also about pedigree.”

“Yes,” Sif told her. “I was born a noble daughter to a good family, but on Asgard. I could never become a Shieldmaid.”

“That stinks.”

She smirked. “It is not so bad. I found my way regardless. Besides, the Shieldmaids have always been women – like Odin’s Valkyries. Strong as they are, when they take their place with men in battle the men still convince themselves they are superior, because they keep their own company. But I have stood alongside men and showed them what I can do, and _made_ them accept me as an equal. Sometimes _their_ superior.”

They were at the Bifrost now and they walked more carefully. The glinting material of the rainbow road was more solid than it looked, but with the memory of it in pieces still fresh Sif couldn’t help being cautious.

She continued, “Many Asgardian women learn to fight; none become warriors. I am the first warrior maid of Asgard.”

“Maybe not the last,” Darcy said, offhand. “I’m sure you’ll be an example to the future generations. Still, it sounds like the Shieldmaids are supposed to be pretty badass.”

“They are. Kings going back before the time of the All-Father have counted on their aid to win countless wars.” Sif paused for a moment, setting the end of her glaive down. “They were said to be the scourge of Jotunheim during the war with Laufey. Many a Jotun learned to fear the sight of an Asgardian woman with a silver shield on her arm.”

Darcy’s eyes flickered to Sif’s own small but sturdy shield.

“You really admire them, don’t you?”

“Aye,” Sif said stately, without hesitation. “Ever since I was small. Especially Lady Freya. Wait until you meet _her_.”

“Freya, she’s…Frigga’s big sister, right?” Darcy asked with some trepidation.

“She is. Twin to the late Lord Frey.” Sif glanced around. They were almost within reach of the observatory on the Bifrost proper. “There has most always been a woman of their family serving as leader to the Shieldmaids, since time before time.”

Darcy blinked. “So Frigga comes from a long line of women warriors? No wonder she’s so…formidable.”

“The queen is quite skilled with a polearm,” Sif said respectfully, “but she is nothing compared to her sister.” She turned to face Darcy head on so she could be more fully expressive as she lapsed into a narrative.

“During the earliest days of the Frost Giant wars, a convoy of Jotun was sent to Asgard for a peace conference. The conference ended in failure: neither people truly _wanted_ a truce, in favor of the war that was brewing. Some of the giants were slain outright but the rest made their way to the Bifrost, planning to use it to bring their armies to invade Asgard.” Sif inhaled, stood tall. “Freya went after them, and fought her way through their numbers to stand beside my half-brother at the gates.

“One by one, warriors fell or were forced to drop back. But never Freya. She held her ground, and fought side by side with Heimdall until the last foe was defeated. For what she did that day, Heimdall said he was in her debt for any favor of her choosing. She is the only being other than the king he serves to whom the Gatekeeper has ever sworn an oath.”

Darcy gazed at Sif. Her mouth opened, then closed again as she looked pensive. She squinted her eyes before she finally spoke.

“Explain to me again how it is you and Heimdall are half-siblings,” she queried. “I know we’ve been over this like three times already. It’s just that, uh, I guess I don’t see…”

“We share a mother,” Sif repeated.

“But you don’t have the same father.”

“No. Nor do I share in with any of his other eight mothers.”

“Um-”

Whatever Darcy was about to say was interrupted as beneath their feet the rainbow road began to tremble.

Sif raised her head and looked around in alarm. A curse perched on the edge of her tongue. Freya and the others would soon be here – though it was pointless to try and hide themselves from Heimdall’s sight, it would not do for them to be standing there openly gawking.

Glancing to the side, Sif grabbed Darcy by the arm and firmly dragged her along as they both were concealed by one of the golden support structures on the edge of the bridge. Once they were crouched down she peered out around the side, close enough they’d have a decent view of the arrivals.

Darcy had fallen silent, taking the hint at this point stealth was appreciated. Both of them waited as the Bifrost activated and the golden dome flashed and spun.

Heimdall turned to face the entryway and moved discreetly to the side as Shieldmaids began to spill forth, their guard organized into two straight lines. Once the terrain had been surveyed they spread out, standing at attention and ready to await their next command.

Freya came next. She strode out from the Bifrost, her expression fierce and unsmiling. She wore her yellow-white hair in a braid past her waist and she was covered in silver full plate armor from her neck down. In one hand she carried a spear. In the other was her shield, gleaming and heavy, curving wide at the edges and even taller than she was.

_“Jesus freaking christ,”_ Darcy whispered, agog, and beside her Sif couldn’t help but grin.

In her childhood, Freya had seemed to her young eyes larger than life, a statuesque being that towered over others. She was pleased that time had not changed this to falsehood. Now fully grown, she could see that Freya stood at least as tall as Thor.

The head of the Shieldmaids cast an appraising glance over the ranks formed by her people and found no fault, seemingly. Her eyes moved on to Heimdall.

The great helmeted guardian took a step forward, for one instant his golden eyes locking with hers. Then he dropped his head, respectfully.

“Lady Freya,” he greeted her.

“Gatekeeper,” she returned, voice not warm but not unkind. “It has been a ways in time since I have seen thee last.”

“Aye, milady. But Asgard is glad to have you again. You are looking well.”

“I look as I always have,” was her response, mild. She did not care about her appearance, or what any thought of it, or how it made others react to her. Shieldmaids were not required to swear to chastity, but it was common for many of them to evade marriage. Freya was among that number.

There had been offers. Freya was actually quite beautiful – though sometimes it was hard to see, intimidating a visage as she could strike. And then, even if she had been a horror, there _still_ would have been offers: for the riches her dowry would bring and the bragging right of being the one to take the leader of the Shieldmaids to bed.

But Freya had a hardened heart, and was beyond uninterested. She had never needed a man to support her, and she didn’t seem capable of falling in love. Her only care was for her duty.

Satisfied with her exchange with Heimdall, now it was Freya who stepped aside. She drew her upraised spear and shield into forward-facing resting positions, at attention to the left side of the observatory’s doorway. Following her lead the others held their at attention posture as well, standing as honor-guard.

Skirts lifted slightly in her hands, Lady Nanna of Vanaheim walked forward out of the Bifrost.

Nanna looked as unlike her sister-in-law as she could have. Her hair was dark, a shade somewhere between brown and red. She was short, frail, with fluttering hands like a bird’s wings. Her eyes were dark and small.

Grief had not aged her prematurely but it’d left its marks on her face, carving deep lines under her eyes and beside her mouth. The set of her lips seemed permanently puckered with bitterness. And while Freya was a warrior, Nanna was clearly a lady, attired in a stiff and layered formal gown, weighted by jewelry and with a matching headdress.

She stood in her place on the bridge and stared out at Asgard as if everything about it displeased her. Or perhaps she simply could not find approval in anything, anymore.

Freya bowed to her subserviently, and was saying something, but in her hiding place Sif was no longer listening. She was too occupied staring at Nanna, blood rushing past her ears, a dart of fright spreading throughout her chest.

Nanna’s clothing was black and grey, even the beads on her necklace and headdress made of onyx and obsidian.

After such loss as she had endured in life for her to never dress gaily again would not be surprising – but that wasn’t it. She was clad as if in full _mourning_. As if the deaths of her son and husband had but happened yesterday.

An unshakable sense of apprehension began to dawn in Sif. She wasn’t certain what to make of it, but it painted a different picture than what had been expected.

And suddenly she felt with pressing urgency that she needed to warn Thor and his family.

She plucked at Darcy’s sleeve. “Quickly,” she hissed. “We need to get back to the palace before them.”

“What?” Darcy looked at Sif, distracted, at the people they were spying on, and then back at Sif again. “Why?” Her expression grew alarmed. “Whoa, Sif, what’s wrong – you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“There is no time to explain,” Sif insisted, half-standing up, though making certain she did not move into view on accident. “Come! I’m sorry, but we have to run. Now!”

Darcy was still stuttering, flustered and bewildered, but she heeded to Sif’s urging. The warrior’s fist was locked tight around her forearm to make sure she didn’t falter as they raced back across the bridge fast as their legs could carry them.

*

As much as showmanship had been ingrained in him, there were times when Loki wondered how they ever managed to get anything done on Asgard, with all their love of pomp.

The word came that Lady Nanna and her escorts had been received on the Bifrost. And so the royal family, and seemingly every last pair of curious and eager eyes that could be crammed into the great hall before the throne, had gathered.

And now for going on nearly twenty minutes all waited, observers whispering gaily among themselves, while they on the dais did their best to hold postures and look regal.

Loki stood slightly to the left and behind his brother and Dr. Foster, hands folded below his chest, mouth in a line and eyes half-lidded. He gazed off into space at a fixed point and let his mind wander a bit to keep from fidgeting. It wasn’t as if he’d not had centuries of practice.

His appearance in female guise _had_ caused a bit of a stir among those present, Thor had been right in expecting that. But while no doubt what they were saying out there would reach his ears eventually, right now Loki thought they seemed more preoccupied with interest in their visitors.

It occurred to him rather obliquely that the last time there’d been an event like this had been for Thor’s attempted coronation, and that was _not_ a memory Loki needed right now. He swiftly cast it aside.

The future queen was performing tolerably well. The mortal woman was seated but she kept her back straight, hands in her lap, feet crossed demurely at the ankles. The only telltale signs were how her thumbs twiddled together behind the fabric of her skirt, her neck turned as she kept stealing glances around, and her lips worked together as she carefully controlled her breathing.

At least she got a chair. Her and the queen both – there’d been one brought up intended for Darcy as well, and Loki had discretely kicked it out of the way.

Jane had noticed: she raised her eyebrows at him in clear questioning, and Loki responded with a minute shake of his head, expression apologetic as he could make it. Jane frowned at him, eyes narrowed, suspicious, but she accepted she’d have to demand an explanation from him later.

Thor had not noticed. If anyone was fidgeting the most, it had to be him. There was a deep frown of confusion on his face, and he kept looking to the sides.

Finally, he could hold his concern in no more.

“Brother,” Thor looked to him, speaking in a rumbling whisper, “where is Darcy?”

“She’s not coming,” Loki told him softly, never moving his eyes.

Thor’s eyes widened in shock and alarm. “ _What?_ But why-!”

The sound of a distant fanfare started playing and everyone waiting on the floor turned their heads. The whispering turned to a loud murmur and drowned out Thor’s last opportunity to speak.

At the very far end of the hall, just past the grand propped-open doors, a flash of silver moving in lines could be barely made out as a glimpse of the approaching Shieldmaids.

But a movement breaking against the crowd to one side caught Loki’s attention. He was startled as Sif pushed her way through, discretely but forcefully, making her way to the dais’ edge.

Thor knelt down as Sif grabbed the end of his boot and tugged. “Sif?” he demanded, face bewildered. “What is it…?” Loki leaned forward without giving the appearance of moving so he too could hear.

“I had to warn you,” Sif said in a low, intense voice. “I’ve seen Lady Nanna. You must be careful how you speak to her. Thor, she is _still_ in mourning!”

The color drained from Thor’s face, and Loki could understand why. This was much worse than they’d feared. Not that anyone had expected Nanna to be “over it”, but…it was hoped thousands of years would’ve taken the edge off the sting.

Thor stood upright again, hands clenched into fists at his sides, as he grimly re-gathered his composure.

Before Sif could get away with a sense of direst urgency Loki darted forward, getting her attention.

“Sif,” he commanded her, entreating, “find Darcy! Make certain that she stays out of sight!”

Either Sif understood or knew there was no time for questioning his reasoning. She nodded, and hurried away again.

Loki went back to his position but he kept his eyes on her. Sif moved back to where the Warriors Three were standing at the front of the crowd in a place of honor and stood beside them. Darcy was next to them already, looking somewhat disheveled.

There was a series of exchanges muttered between Sif and the men, and then the four of them moved quickly, shifting so they shoved a protesting Darcy behind them, then brought their shoulders together in a line so she was completely hidden from view. The tight press of the crowd would keep her from moving. Loki breathed an inward sigh of small relief.

And then the fanfare came again, much louder, proudly announcing the Vanaheim nobles’ entry to the room. The crowd fell silent, eyes forward on the Shieldsmaids’ glittering military array as they marched.

Freya was at the front, escorting Nanna. Loki could not put name to the confliction of emotions inside him as he beheld his aunts after so long.

When last he’d seen them he’d been but a youth. A youth guilt-stricken by an accidental murder. Now he was a man, grown up wild and wrong in so many different ways. An exiled prince full to the brim with bitter secrets and regrets, returned angry but willing to his home, humbled.

He had changed. He was sorry to see that, at a first glance, they had not.

Freya drew up short in front of the throne and pounded her spear down to order her women to a halt. Then gracefully she drew back, yielding the position of honor to her brother’s widow.

It was interesting, to watch a woman as willful as Freya defer to one such as _Nanna_.

On the dais Odin and his children stood tall. Frigga rose – Jane glanced over and followed her example.

Freya and her warriors bowed all the way to one knee, while with face blank and eyes cast to the ground, Nanna lowered a demure curtsey. The Shieldmaids behind them recovered but Freya stayed kneeling, and Nanna still did not look up, hands clasped in front of her.

“Hail the All-Father,” Freya declared, “and his queen, and his sons, and his firstborn’s betrothed. The House of Frey presents itself to you on this glorious occasion, your honored and humble servants.”

Well said, and steadily enough – but it was all the scripted and expected remarks. And of course Freya, stone-faced as she was, would betray no hint of emotion or hesitance in her delivery, no matter what.

“Pray recover, Lady Freya, Lady Nanna,” the All-Father said in solemn reply. “My kingdom and our family welcome you, as it always has, and has had too rare occasion to in recent past.”

Both women rose as bid. It was a waste of time trying to read Freya. And Nanna still looked at nobody.

The queen came forward a bit, raising one hand.

“It does my heart good to see you both again, sisters,” she said delicately, with a gentle and hopeful smile. “Perhaps it can be hoped this visit can be used to rekindle a closer acquaintance.”

“Of course we will be happy to oblige the queen however she wishes,” Nanna answered. Loki couldn’t but wince: it always seemed to him his aunt had an especially shrill, grating voice, even when she spoke at her calmest. He couldn’t tell if it was his imagination her tone was more clipped than usual now.

Frigga’s smile faltered, but didn’t drop completely. The formal reply was not necessarily a bad thing. Though Loki could read his mother’s hidden face, and tell her eyes rested on Nanna’s mourning garb with unease.

Nanna gestured to her guardswoman, and Freya produced a small golden chest that she held before her in offering.

“A gift for the royal family,” Nanna stated smoothly, “in honor of the engagement.”

Both related and estranged as they were with the royals, this group could’ve come with no gift and not have it read as an insult. But most of the guests had brought something, of course: there was nothing special in that.

Loki watched, waiting for Freya to open the chest and show them what was inside. But strangely she did not. She stayed where she was and kept it closed in her hands, posture rigid and gaze set.

Loki bit his lower lip. Curious.

Odin waved a hand and a guard came forward to accept the gift from Freya and bring it to her sister, who held it absently against her chest.

The silence that followed did not have a chance to grow awkward before Freya fixed her eyes on Thor.

“Nephew, I am pleased to see you have grown into a fine warrior, whose exploits are varied and legendary,” she told him. Automatically Thor smiled. “Now that you have chosen your life’s companion, may you share a long and blessed union together.”

“Yes,” Nanna chimed in. She lifted her head and managed to take in all the family with her gaze.

There was such twisted heat in her eyes, but her voice was ice cold, and there was no smile on her face as she spoke:

“May marriage bring to you all the happiness it has brought me.”

Her meaning was clear.

Loki’s throat clenched.

A shudder rippled across the crowd.

Thor’s face fell, a spark of dread in his eyes. He put his hand on Jane’s shoulder and drew her protectively nearer, as she stared back with horror at the venom in Nanna’s face.

The All-Father spoke loudly, but as evenly as if there was nothing to be concerned about: “Your wishes are, of course, graciously received by my son and his bride-to-be.”

Thor recovered his wits just enough. “Yes,” he managed. He gave a stiff nod of his head. “Thank you, Aunts.”

“Thank you very much,” Jane echoed, picking up the cue, and Loki was proud for her – her voice did not tremble, though it was small.

“I think,” Odin continued, “that you both must be very tired from your long journey. By all means, let us end this assembly, so that you may find your rooms and refresh yourselves before tonight’s feast.”

Again Nanna curtsied and Freya bowed. “Yes, All-Father,” the widow said. Her voice was as hard as it could get without being directly impolite. “You are most gracious.”

Her eyes glinted in a way that reminded Loki of his knives’ blades as she turned to one side. Freya gazed up at the royal family unblinkingly over her shoulder.

There was more fanfare, more bowing – and just like that, it was over. The group from Vanaheim exited down a different path. There was a tension in the air that came from hundreds of witnesses impatiently holding their tongues, waiting for the very moment when they would be permitted to speak and animatedly chatter to one another.

But the crown would not have to watch any of that. With the king leading the way the family strode out from the dais through a back door leading to a private antechamber.

The instant they were alone there seemed a collective exhale. Loki crossed his arms lightly, hugging himself.

Jane shivered, eyes gone impossibly wide, using one hand to fan her face as the stress of everything she’d just been through caught up to her at once. “Oh my god,” she said, numbly. “Oh my god.”

Thor put both hands on her shoulders and squeezed her to him as he made an anxious attempt at a soothing sound.

Frigga took a stilted step forward, and gripped the back of a chair like she needed the balance, sagging.

“ _Oh,_ ” she breathed in sharply, a distraught look coming over her as she pressed her other hand to her face.

Silently Odin reached out to her. He said nothing, but his expression was sad. And maybe, Loki thought, a little worried.

Frigga looked to her husband. “Nanna is _still_ angry,” she exclaimed, stricken, and if her observation seemed obvious and simple so much more was in the emotions she said it with. She moved her hand to the hollow of her throat, overcome as if she were about to shed tears.

Odin only nodded. “I know,” he agreed.

As one the gazes of the four others shifted to Loki, staring at him with a mixture of apology, pity, and concern.

Knowing what they were all thinking – that he was the focus of such anger, and who knew what might come from it – Loki drew his cloak tighter, and fought off the urge to shrink down and cower.


	3. Eros and Psyche

On the day that she and Loki finally got together, nothing particularly special had been going on.

It wasn’t a holiday or some kind of anniversary. There was no party. And there hadn’t been some epic battle for good and evil or life and death that in the aftermath of it was easy to get swept up and do life-changing things.

It was just another day. Darcy was visiting Asgard, and she’d spent most of the afternoon hanging around with all her friends, and then in the evening of course there’d been a big feast that they all attended.

Darcy bailed after dessert because she was tired of watching neck-bearded Viking dudes try to drink each other under the table. Loki went with her, because that was how they rolled.

They didn’t head anywhere in particular. She let him lead her through the empty winding back corridors of the palace, because to her the place was still like a maze. It was dark and kind of cool out and they didn’t see a single other soul. But Darcy didn’t mind, didn’t even think of minding: she felt safe and happy.

They talked for hours of nothing, and laughed, and grabbed hands or poked each other in the shoulder.

And when they reached a blind corner that was lit by wrought-iron lanterns, containing marble columns and a fountain, they had just trailed off from laughing into companionable silence. Darcy had tucked herself under Loki’s arm as they walked, half-squeezed into his side, and he had wrapped an arm around her waist instead of beneath her elbow as he escorted her.

After the silence lingered Darcy turned her head, intending to raise her eyebrows and give him a _‘Well what now, smart guy?’_ smile.

Except she realized all of a sudden that they were alone, and it was quiet, and she…this was something that had been coming for a long while.

And when she looked up to meet Loki’s eyes, she could tell at once that he was thinking the same thing.

Darcy took a breath and closed her eyes and went up on her toes, and Loki’s hand came to rest on her chin, one thumb brushing the corner of her mouth as they kissed.

They kissed. And it wasn’t… _perfect_ , it wasn’t world-changing. Or world-ending. It didn’t set fireworks off over her head or set her knees to knocking. This wasn’t the kiss at the end of a really great first date or the kiss you got when you found out someone you’d been crushing on had feelings for you.

Those were all foreplay, thick with excitement and stomachs full of butterflies because they had the rush that came with starting something, of being _new_. But this didn’t feel new: it felt warm, and _good_ , and familiar, like somehow they’d been here before. Their first kiss was full of this feeling of a content sigh, of _‘Finally, I’ve come home’_.

And sure. Why not? Didn’t it make sense?

Didn’t everyone under more than one sun think they should’ve been together already?

Hadn’t they been friends for a really long time, and they’d met under weird and awkward circumstances, so if they’d gotten through _that_ , well; then basically they had to be set for life?

Didn’t they already get along? Didn’t they already _get_ each other? Weren’t they already closer than either of them had ever been with anyone else before?

And Darcy had grown up, from a girl whose head turned at every remotely hot guy, from someone who’d stopped thinking about constantly wanting to be in a relationship to someone who was actually ready to have one.

And Loki wasn’t running anymore, and he wasn’t fighting, and he wasn’t angry or scared or using his own loneliness like a shield, and if he was still a little crazy, well, it was the kind a girl could learn to work with.

They already cared about each other. They were already in love. It was only until now, that love had stayed at the level where they were best friends, concerned about each other’s feelings and there with a shoulder to cry on and having each other’s back whenever they needed it.

Really, they should’ve been ready to cross this line after their grand pirate adventure. Everything that had happened there had just gone and made it _obvious_.

But in the days and weeks after coming back Darcy noticed a lurking shadow in Loki’s eyes that slid in whenever he let his gaze go unfocused. The way he tensed up and didn’t always respond as kindly to physical contact. And she saw how sometimes, late at night, he’d sit away from everyone else, drawn in close around himself and body language tight, and his hands would shake just a little bit.

It put a sour feeling in the pit of her stomach, but she got it. What happened to Loki on that world was something he’d need time to get over. So she pulled back, and she waited.

Until time had passed and she’d forgotten she was waiting.

And now here they were again, months later, and this time it was happening. This time it was okay.

So they kissed, and it was good, and they didn’t need to stop and talk about it. When Darcy pulled back for air she gulped and met Loki’s eyes again, and they both grinned as they shared a nervous but conspiratorial, heated gaze.

They kissed again and it got deeper, wetter, better, more passionate and wild. They’d gone all out of order in their relationship: never had the part where they went “okay this is a thing”, and gotten to know each other instead, and now they’d looped back and covered the initiation. Time to skip to the end.

Darcy will always feel a sense of smugness it was she that made the first move. She grabbed Loki’s shoulders and _tugged_ , leaning backward so he’d no choice but to break contact or follow, moving and holding her as they guided each other to the floor.

They’d gone from kissing to full-on making out and grabby hands as Darcy was on her back, rocking her hips against Loki’s, body pinned beneath his. She reached over her head and tugged off her sweater.

She kicked off her shoes and socks because she’d learned this lesson the hard way previously, fumbling with her belt buckle while Loki cupped her breasts still clad in her bra.

Then she stopped, feeling the hard marble floor cold beneath her naked back. “Oh, wait,” she realized belatedly. Dipping her head back she stretched out her neck and closed her eyes and gave a short and sheepish ‘oh well’ groan. “This is going to _suck._ ”

But while she had already resigned herself to consummating their relationship with an uncomfortable banging and a bruised ass – this was what happened in _real life_ when you were romantic and got caught up in the moment – Loki lifted his head from where he’d been kissing and sucking her cleavage and navel with an amused chuckle.

“Perhaps you’d prefer it if we took this to another location?” He offered her his hand.

She took it with a raised eyebrow and a relieved smile. And then she couldn’t help a breathless girly _“Oh,”_ that escaped her as he easily picked her up sideways in his arms, standing. He teleported them to his room.

Darcy had been here before but she’d never had a chance to appreciate how _big_ his bed was, how soft, before he was lying her down on it and climbing over her with his knees spread to either side of her body, her hands going to his neck and his cheeks as she pawed  him like a horny teenager. They continued where they left off, kissing and grinding and rocking into each other. And much, much, _much_ later would it occur to Darcy to wonder if her top and shoes and socks were still back there beside that fountain. She had other things on her mind.

Loki caressed the lowest point of her back just above the band of her jeans, then trailed his hands upward, fingers plucking deftly at the clasp of her bra.

“Wait, wait.” Darcy reached back there and grabbed his hand, pulling it away. She slid a little upward, peering to give him a reproachful frown. “So not fair.” She waved an accusing fingertip at his still fully-dressed self.

“You, right now, clothes,” she commanded. Loki took his hands off her and stretched arms out to either side with an obliging smile as he sat back on his heels. Darcy darted forward, eager.

She felt a lot less confident and pleased with herself as she quickly discovered Loki’s clothes were exactly as complicated as they looked from the outside. In fact, even more so. After three minutes all she’s succeeded in doing was untying two very long sets of laces and proving that she wasn’t even sure _where_ to start when it came to removing the rest.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Darcy whined as she discovered the edge of his doublet was secured with about a zillion of those little hook and eye things. “How do you people get to breakfast in the morning without having to come in naked? Do you get up at the crack of _dawn?_ ”

Loki was smiling at her still, but his eyes shone and his shoulders shook slightly with silent laughter.

He took pity on her after her whine trailed off into a sigh and a pout. Gently he removed her hands from his shoulders, keeping them clasped between his.

“I can teach you how to remove these later,” he promised her. “For now, I think we’ll cheat.”

With a swirl of magic that spiraled out from his body, wordless and without gesture, his clothes were swept away. Darcy looked top to bottom, getting an appreciative eyeful.

And then she felt the warm press from where their skin touched and realized he’d been super thorough, and she was also naked.

She shrugged off any indignation because of how the now complete lack of any clothes meant they could get much faster to the sex.

Hands still clasped she kissed him, with some twisting managing to lift both her legs and wrapping them around his waist. Nonverbal urging was all she needed to encourage him into rolling her back and lying down on top of her again.

Afterward when they were sweaty and panting and tangled up in his sheets, Darcy turned over to her side and curled up against him, nuzzling her face into his chest. Loki dropped one lazy arm over her, and pulled her in close.

They fell asleep together like it was only the most natural thing. Darcy slept through the entire night and when she opened her eyes, Loki was already awake and watching her.

When he met her gaze, he greeted her silently with a soft and slowly-spreading smile.

A smile that said ‘I love you’, and in her heart Darcy felt herself answer ‘I love you too’, and she felt like the happiest person in the entire universe.

*

Right now, at present, Darcy couldn’t have been less happy, with herself, or her relationship, or _especially_ with Loki.

Okay, she wasn’t a total moron. She’d known what she was getting into from way before that very first night. Loki was seriously damaged goods. The fact they’d started this latest misadventure with him relating that story of the time when in his teenage years he’d _killed_ a guy and she’d reacted by feeling more sympathetic than surprised spoke to that.

And she wasn’t clueless either when it came to the ins and outs of Loki’s somewhat frequent and eccentric mood-swings. They “needed space”, all of a sudden, when his unwanted relatives came to town? That was such bullshit. Obviously, there was something going on. He had some plan or ulterior reasoning he wanted her at a distance for. There were always at least five things going on in Loki’s head at any given time, and his emotions and motivations tended to stack on each other.

She’d meant what she said when she stormed out. She fully expected him to explain himself to her later, and give an eloquent and very satisfyingly _groveling_ apology when he did.

Darcy had faith that one way or another, in the long run, they were going to work this whole thing out.

But that didn’t mean that until then she wasn’t allowed to be pissed as all hell at him.

After the crowd broke apart in the assembly hall, she took advantage of the confusion to slip away from the grasp of the Warriors Three and Sif. Obviously they were keeping her corralled at Loki’s request; she wanted no part of that. He wanted her to keep away, fine, but she insisted on the freedom to go where she wanted while she was doing it.

Alone she stalked her way down a hall, without a care or clue where she was going, grumbling animatedly to herself with her hands balled into fists by her sides.

Pushing her to the side in the middle of the celebration for Thor and Jane. All of a sudden, cutting her out cold and acting like he never knew or wanted her. Treating her like the girlfriend that wasn’t good enough for his family or his life. Like all she was for was screwing around.

It made her blood boil, and the insides of her skull throb until she felt like she was going to scream. _God_ , but her boyfriend could be such a perfect _jackass_ when he wanted to be. When he reached down past the cobwebs and pulled out a leftover from his “used to be an evil manipulative bastard” closet.

Storming around with red in her eyes as she was Darcy wasn’t looking where she was going. Or minding whether or not there was anyone around, or that her way was clear.

She snapped out of her fog enough to realize she was a few steps shy of plowing straight into an Asgardian woman, and with what little self-control remained in her Darcy pulled herself short.

“Oh, hey, I’m sorry,” she started to say automatically, before she looked up and it hit her who she was talking to.

Loki’s aunt Nanna stood a few feet away from her, sleeves folded together, staring at her with an empty and hard look on her face.

“Oh!” Darcy said again, much more sharply, gaping for a moment before she caught herself and blinking. “It’s _you_.” Swiftly she dropped the best curtsey she could manage, feeling her face heat up nervously. “I’m uh, so sorry your ladyship, I didn’t realize…”

Nanna ignored her babbling. She stared at Darcy with a glint in her eyes. “So, you know who I am, do you?” she demanded. “I know who you are, too.”

“You – what?” Darcy frowned, drawing a blank. Something about a feeling in the air was making her unaccountably nervous. “You do?”

Swiftly Nanna’s arm lashed out. Without any warning she gripped Darcy’s wrist tight in her hand, fingers digging in, holding her like a vise. Darcy let out a shocked, stifled sound of pain and couldn’t resist as Nanna dragged her in, turning her enough so she could clearly see the runes on Darcy’s back.

“ _Sigyn_ ,” Nanna spat out, face pinched with disgust. “The faithful wife! She who the mortals say stood by her husband, though he was a _murderer_ , and a monster.”

 She released Darcy and shoved her back, like she couldn’t stand to run the risk of touching her more.

“Loki’s wife, a child of Asgard, who nonetheless sided with him over her own people!” Nanna hissed, “Who didn’t run but stayed with him, even after in coldest blood he struck Balder down.”

Darcy rubbed her arm, trying not to whimper. The bruised marks of fingerprints were already rising on her skin.

She lifted her head and met Nanna’s eyes with the best baleful glare she could manage. “My name is _Darcy_ ,” she told her, curt.

“But you are Sigyn,” Nanna repeated, unbothered. She pointed in the direction of Darcy’s tattoo. “The runes don’t lie. Either you chose the name or you were deemed worthy of it. And you have inherited all the legacy attributed to that woman in the stories of old.”

“Fine,” Darcy responded, spitting out a few terse words of her own. “So what? I’m with Loki. I chose that. I’m not ashamed of it.”

“I wasn’t sure you would exist. I certainly didn’t expect you to be a mortal,” Nanna commented. “But even so, even you must have sense of the _thing_ you put yourself beside. Even you must’ve heard of what he has done.” She leveled Darcy with an accusing glare. “How _could_ you?”

Darcy stood straight and fought off the urge to shrink back. Outwardly Nanna didn’t look all that intimidating. She wasn’t huge; she didn’t carry weapons. If it came right down to it, Darcy thought she could take her.

But the amount of _hate_ in the woman’s face; the burning twist of anger in her eyes and voice. That was something else.

“I’m sorry for what happened to your son,” Darcy said evenly. “That was horrible, and I don’t think anyone ever expects you to forgive Loki for it. I _know_ Loki sure doesn’t. But it wasn’t on purpose, and you’re wrong about him. You’re letting your anger make you see things that aren’t there.” She drew a breath and raised her chin. “He’s not a monster.”

“ _Not_ a monster,” Nanna repeated, voice frozen and flat. “Is that what you think?” She made a short scoffing sound that grated the back of her throat. “If you only knew the truth.”

Darcy just stared at her as calmly and confidently as she could, waiting, her breathing shallow.

“Do you know what happened to Sigyn, in the stories that your people made?” Nanna asked. She drew a step closer – she was short for own kind, which meant she was just barely taller than Darcy. “Do you? After Loki was finally captured, and brought to justice for his crimes, given the punishment he deserved, Sigyn was punished too.

“They were sealed together in a cave buried underground. They brought in one of Loki’s sons, one of the children Sigyn herself had given birth to. He was ripped apart in front of them, and his entrails were used to bind Loki down.”

Nanna stepped closer again, and Darcy felt she had no choice but to quickly retreat back. She didn’t trust the woman that close to her. Not with that look on her face.

Darcy watched her, hypnotized and terrified, unable to speak as Nanna kept talking.

“Chained by the remains of his own offspring, Loki had a serpent dripping poison in his face, acid that burned his skin and lying tongue and ate away at his wicked eyes.” Nanna’s voice rose to a stilted, malicious shout as her recitation kept going on. “Sigyn sat next to him with a bowl cupped in her hands that she used to try and keep the poison away from his face. But her task was a futile one for eventually the bowl would fill and when she had to empty it, Loki’s shrieking and suffering would begin anew.”

She glowered at Darcy, eyes burning madly like embers, full of spite and self-righteousness.

“And would it be within my grasp, child, it would be my _dearest_ wish that Loki be given the punishment the mortals devised!” She made a fist, hand clutching to grasp greedily at the air before curling by her heart. “That he feel pain so severe and unendurable that it made the world shake. And when that happened, it would be only fitting that you were right there with him.”

It was a threat and Darcy took it as such. Her courage snapped completely in half and abandoned her, and too fast for her to even think she took to her heels and ran away fast as she could.

Hair streaming, tears flowing from her eyes, Darcy ran until her lungs felt like they’d burst, gasping for breath; anything to put safe distance between her and the cruel and bitter touch of Nanna’s desire for revenge.

*

Loki sat on a window ledge not far from his rooms, legs stretched out in front of him, head leaning idly to one side just enough he could look out at the view.

It was another beautiful day. But he found it impossible to enjoy it. Perhaps not much a surprise.

Even now, after having been back long enough he could take things for granted, every once in a while it hit him as he was reminded – that for a whole year he hadn’t been able to see this. That he had almost been willing to give up on it forever. It wasn’t just the splendor he would’ve missed out on: this was his _home_.

And with the wolves that had arrived to snap at his heels, there was a dread in him that he was going to lose it.

There came the sound of running feet, of shoes slapping hard against the flagstones, the clang of jewelry shaking and a woman’s frantic breaths. Loki’s head snapped up, alert.

He slipped from his perch as he saw the figure which appeared in the gateway leading to the hall.

“Darcy?” He called out her name, surprised.

Her eyes found him. Only making a halfhearted attempt to compose herself she ran to his side.

“Loki! I’ve been looking everywhere. I didn’t…I couldn’t think of anyone else to talk to; you were the first person I wanted to see-”

She was rambling, voice cracked and strained with emotion. She looked shaken, distraught; visibly on the verge of tears.

Loki remembered he was supposed to be pretending he didn’t want to see her.

But he couldn’t turn her away when she was like this. He had no heart to continue his ruse. He’d been shocked by how Darcy appeared now and only wanted to comfort her.

“Shh, come here.” He embraced her and at once she clung to him. “Calm down. Try to tell me what happened.”

Darcy sniffled, pulling back. With both hands she quickly scrubbed at her cheeks, removing what tears had fallen from her eyes, as if somehow this would prevent him having seen them.

“I’m sorry,” she said senselessly. “I didn’t mean to lose it like this. But it just…I was so caught off-guard-”

Loki had been shaking his head, frowning, about to press her further with how he didn’t follow. But he noticed something on her arm and he froze.

“Stop,” he ordered, and Darcy fell silent, bemused. His hand went to her forearm, careful but firm as he raised the limb for a better view, positioning both so he could see clearly and wordlessly indicate to her what he was fixated on.

There was a mark on her wrist, red blossoming into black. Someone had grabbed her there, seized her flesh hard enough to bruise.

Loki was horrified and enraged. “Who touched you?” he demanded. “Who has done this?”

Darcy swallowed. There was a note of sick anger in her own voice as she replied, “Your aunt Nanna.”

He felt a shudder run up his spine. Numbly his fingers lost their hold, opening, and she pulled out of his grasp.

“She cornered me, when I was alone,” Darcy continued when Loki could not find his voice. “Basically attacked me…because of my Asgardian name.” She drew a breath. “Because of who she thought I was, or was supposed to be.” The words tumbled out of her, unsettled and emotive. “Jesus, Loki, you should have seen her. The way she went off on me. The things she _said_.”

Gaze still wide, eyes unseeing, Loki lowered his head to stare at the floor between their feet.

Why was it his worst fears were always determined to prove themselves right?

“This is why you said what you did, isn’t it,” Darcy guessed after a moment. “This is why you tried to push me away.” Loki opened his mouth, but she didn’t give him a chance. “I knew there _had_ to be a _reason_. Even if it only made sense to you. I just couldn’t begin to figure out what it was.”

Forlornly, Loki began, “I didn’t want-”

“You were scared for me,” Darcy interjected. “Is that it?” Loki closed his mouth again, suddenly unable to answer, and breathed out slow. Distracted, Darcy shook her head. “You knew there was a chance she wouldn’t just blame you but everyone around you. And you didn’t want her to find out I existed, because then I might get caught up in the middle. You wanted to protect me from her.”

“I am so sorry that I had to upset you,” Loki swore to her. “I just didn’t want you to come to any harm.”

Darcy didn’t bother responding. She rested her head on his shoulder again and Loki held her tight.

When she loosened herself from his grasp again, Darcy gave a shaky laugh.

“Just forget it. Forget the whole thing,” she muttered, rubbing her eyes. She was drained, face wan. “This is so stupid. I can’t be mad at you right now. Not when you’re the one I always go to vent to.”

“Perhaps I deserve your anger, for the way I behaved,” Loki allowed. “Or at least for the way I must’ve seemed to you. But certainly after what happened, you can understand my reasons.”

His expression darkened as he took up her hand again. Pressing a light kiss on top of her injuries he passed along healing magics, soothing the bruises away.

Holding her palm between both of his Loki examined her now unmarked skin.

“This was unforgivable. You are a guest of the royal family: attacking you is almost as good as paying a blow to one of us. Lady Nanna certainly knows better. She should be punished for what she did-”

“What are you going to do?” Darcy demanded, cutting off his fervent words. “Tell your dad and expect him to lay the smackdown on her? I don’t want to cause any problems. Won’t saying anything just make it worse?”

Loki was aggrieved but knew she was right. Things were tense enough as it was without making an incident. And though it would be a blatant lie Nanna could always claim she hadn’t known Darcy’s relationship to him or it was a misunderstanding – in lack of absolute proof, Odin couldn’t doubt her openly without seeming disloyal to his wife’s family.

“Well, never mind then,” Loki said begrudgingly. He put his hands on Darcy’s shoulders, keeping eye contact as he pulled her close. “But you must promise you’ll be careful from now on.”

“I’ll try. I mean, I’ll do my best. I think the only thing I can do is try to stay away from her.”

Easier said than done. Between festivities and formalities his only choice would be to keep her close by and hope Nanna had enough restraint not to try anything in public.

He wanted so much to hide Darcy away somehow; perhaps turn into something smaller, or keep her locked up in his room. He knew she’d hardly react _well_ to such attempts. But she meant so much to him, and he wanted so badly to keep her safe it ached inside.

“I can’t stay angry,” Darcy was saying. “I hate thinking like I might be acting like a doormat, but it’s the worst thing ever when we fight.” She murmured, “I just want to be with you. Things work so much better when we’re together.” Giving him a quick squeeze she pulled back with an absent glance.

“Especially now that I’m basically part of a hot lesbian couple.”

Tension forgotten Loki let loose a particularly amused laugh.

“I suppose that I’m lucky you take to such things so easily.” With a fond smile he caressed her under the chin.

Darcy shrugged, then fixated on his face for a more considering look.

“This is somehow a reassurance thing for you, isn’t it?” she concluded after a moment, indicating the female body with her eyes. “Like a psychological security blanket.”

Loki swallowed, smile fading, feeling strained as something in his expression threatened to break.

No one else would’ve probably been able to guess but her, he knew. Even if she didn’t always understand fully she had so much practice at reading him. Nobody else _saw_ him so well.

“You could say that,” he admitted, soft, “yes.”

Darcy gave him a reassuring pat on the arm. “Well whatever works for you,” she stated, serene.

For the rest of the day they saw no one else. They retreated to his room, locked the door; Loki sent notes of apology to his family and gave orders to the servants they were not to be disturbed.

They needed no fresh air today, no sunlight. No pleasant distractions offered by music or mead. All they wanted was to be together and find comfort they needed in each other.

There was never any hesitation, any sign of doubt or second thoughts in Darcy’s behavior toward him. She treated Loki so much the same it was like she hadn’t even noticed he looked different. After the sun went down, however, and the time came that they finally decided to retire to the bed, there was a bump in the road.

Though Darcy didn’t say anything, she didn’t have to. Loki knew her; he could certainly read her reactions.

However much she considered herself an open-minded individual, it didn’t change the fact that Darcy was not attracted to women. She simply didn’t _respond_ to his female version the way she did when he was a man.

She did her best, really, but her touches were fumbling and hesitant, half-hearted, as Loki tried to guide her. He gave up on reaching climax, despite her protests, personally uncaring – he was far more concerned with her physical happiness than his own. In this at least he knew they’d find success.

Loki got her to relax and brought her to release, more than one time, but despite that as she drifted off in blissful exhaustion he could sense something in her still restless, unsatisfied.

There was nothing for it. He waited a few hours, until she had gotten some rest and was recovered. Breathing out softly so as not to wake her right away, he released his woman’s shape and shifted back to his true body.

Gently Loki shook her. “Darcy?” he whispered.

She mumbled unintelligibly, eyes bleary and unfocused as she lifted her head to him. She was still half-asleep as a look both surprised and pleased stole over her face.

“You-”

Loki pressed a finger over her mouth to shush her, and when she resisted by making another attempt at speaking, he silenced her with a kiss.

Darcy gave in and tried asking no more questions, but happily went along. They made love in the near dark, and she fell asleep with her head pillowed on a man’s chest, nestled snugly in the crook of his arm.

When she awoke again in the morning and found the Loki that had slept next to her was female once more, she took her time gazing with a flat, blank expression, utterly bewildered.

“Um,” she said at last, shaking her head as if to clear cobwebs. “Either I had one incredibly vivid sex dream, or…”

“You did not,” Loki told her, simple.

“Oh.” Darcy sat there, thinking, gnawing her lip with a perturbed frown. “Why did you-?”

“I just wanted to make you happy. But as I told you before, I will be living in _this_ body for a while.” He’d drifted off just long enough in woman form part of his hair had dissolved into a limp tangle, and some of it fell near his eyes. Loki made no effort to move it as he reached out to Darcy. “It seemed the only concession.”

She didn’t pull back from his touch. He watched as her vibrant eyes moved up and down, her thoughts going, he knew not to what end.

“Wow,” she finally huffed. She shook her head again, this time with an air of exasperated surrender. “Being with you is such a trip sometimes.”

Loki gave a small smile in response, and accepted that.

*

Loki remembered the first night that he and Darcy had together too. But for him the memory resonated very differently.

Long after his partner had fallen asleep he lay awake staring up at the ceiling. In the middle of the night he turned over to look at Darcy’s sleeping face. She was deep in her dreaming and seemed so peaceful and relaxed. Even in slumber she instinctively reached for him, snuggling at his side.

He had to get up, and get away.

Moving swiftly and silently he threw on some clothes, draped a cloak around his shoulders and stole out of the bedchamber.

In the pitch darkness he took a walk across the palace grounds.

A sense of claustrophobic terror was bearing down on him. And despite the fact he should have been overjoyed, despite that he cared for Darcy deeply, in vain he tried to beat back the warmth that was growing inside of him.

But there was no room left for denying it now. He was falling in love; even deeper than he had stumbled into it already.

One palm pressed flat against his chest, fingers curling, pressing into the skin, as if he could somehow reach within and dig out the offending emotion. Remove his heart completely. In desperation, he wished that he could.

Oh, he was a coward for it. Less than a person, perhaps, to react in a manner so repulsive. He knew that.

He hated himself. But he couldn’t deny the truth that he felt sick rather than filled with bliss.

Love _terrified_ him, its happiness and its weakness. In the past it caused him so much pain; left him so scarred he’d been convinced for a while he’d become incapable of loving.

But eventually it had snuck its way back to him: in family, and friendship. And once he’d given in he’d thought that would sustain him through eternity. That this would be enough.

Because something more, something else – it wasn’t what he was meant for. Or rather it wasn’t meant for _him_.

He remembered when he was very small, and he planned that one day of course he and Thor would both be brave warriors, and woo two of the loveliest maidens. They would fall madly in love with each other and get married and have families full of children and he and his brother would make sure they had sons at the same time so they could play together.

And then he got older, and he saw the world and himself differently. He no longer had much interest in the romance of courtship. Though he was capable of winning interest from some ladies with gestures and words, and did every once and again for fun, he found he shied away from the thought of anything deeper. A chill of loneliness created by the distance he felt around him touched his heart.

No matter, he had thought to himself. In some back corner of his mind he assumed that when his unmarried status was no longer appropriate his parents would help him find a wife. He would do his princely duty, and if there was no passion in his arranged marriage, there was distant hope that at least they would grow fond of each other with time.

Then came the betrayal, the lies, the _truth_. And every last piece of Loki’s heart was broken.

He was alone, he had been born to be alone, he would be alone _forever_ : growing ever more twisted in darkness, laughing in his hatred and drinking the bitterness from his own unshed tears, miserable but standing upright crookedly, for _this_ was his place. And he would always be this way. He _knew_.

And then, once again, he was proven wrong.

Dragged back to Asgard, given a home and a heart and a brother again. Slowly, timidly, so full of trepidation, he mended. He could feel again, he could care – but he never thought he would _love_.

No. Time would pass; Thor would eventually be ready to become king. He would find a queen, someone beautiful and worthy and proper, who he adored with all the burning might in his heart. And Loki would be there somewhere, beside him, quiet but always ready to support or advise his brother. And he’d never marry, and no one would care because he was already disgraced. And all would be well.

And now this. Now like a thief, the one thing that in a way he feared most stole its way in, and had him by the throat.

He was in love. And it felt _wonderful_ ; like a falling star bursting inside of him, like a flower blossoming into life, sparks shooting all through his soul and making him feel a way he never had before, or if he had, had long forgotten.

And the happier he felt the more afraid he grew, the more this flame warmed him the more he trembled.

He did not want this, the sweetest gift he had ever been given. He did not want to be in love, scared it would destroy him.

_Please,_ he begged, though he knew not to what or who, _take this away from me. Don’t make me suffer through this. I’ll never survive. Don’t curse me with such madness!_

But his pleas went unanswered and he stood there alone under the stars, unable to keep his mind and heart from drifting back to the woman he’d left sleeping in his bed, feeling every fiber of his body cry out with longing to be with her.

Loki hung his head, feeling disappointed, and shamed and disgusted by that.

He gave in to surrender, and walked back to his rooms, where he belonged. He climbed back into bed and pressed a kiss to Darcy’s sleeping forehead, drinking in the shape of her face.

His could be the happiest of fates, surely, if only he could ever get over his feeling of apprehension.

*

Asgard’s queen walked the palace alone. She made her way across the familiar gilded halls, back straight and hands folded loosely together.

While her regal bearing as always to the casual eye made her attitude seem one of utmost formality, anyone familiar with the ways and hierarchy of Asgard could see at a glance she was in a much more relaxed mode. Her hair was done up in a looser style and her dress was simple compared to what she would wear to the feasting hall for dinner. This was a noblewoman who was taking time for herself, perhaps on her way to sit and sew in the garden or spend an afternoon with her family.

It was the latter that was her intention, though perhaps not so lightheartedly. Frigga had dismissed any servant or guard who’d wished to accompany her: her quest was purposeful, with a reunion on her mind.

In the time she grew up in Asgard’s court had been an important center of her world, and as both a child and a young and eligible maiden she spent easily as much time there as she had on the world she’d still called her own. When she had married in there had been no mystery or factor of intimidation to her, no new custom to learn. Vanaheim blood was Asgard blood: she was no true ‘foreign bride’, thrust unassuming into a marriage for its powerful connections.

But that didn’t change that Vanaheim was in its own small ways different. It was a springtime land to Asgard’s summer, sun-soaked and bright but with air slightly cooler, its greenery denser and lush. Cities were built not up but out, as sprawling spaced-out compounds that purposefully left room for rolling fields and forests.

The people of Vanaheim could be formal, but there was an easiness about them, and the warrior culture that had made Asgard into the heart of the Nine Realms was more relaxed there. Sometimes in an idle moment Frigga wondered what it would’ve been like if she had raised her children on Vanaheim: where competition was usually friendly instead of fierce, and scholars were given respect and honors.

She let out an easy sigh, banishing the thought away like she always did. It would serve her nothing here.

It had been so long since Frigga visited the realm of her birth. Though she felt no homesick longing, it would’ve been nice to experience the familiar breezes, and the sweet damp scent of Vanaheim grass. But what she truly regretted was the connection lost to her family.

After her brother’s death she had written to both her sister-in-law and her sister. Nanna had sent her no reply at all, which given the depth of her grief had not been surprising. Freya had responded, but to each earnest response sent only letters that were formal and terse. And so Frigga had given up, and waited on time to provide reconciliation.

But it’d never come. Now she feared she had been alone in her wishes, waiting in vain to hear from the other side that in truth had no interest left.

She could not give up so easily, though. She didn’t wish to be a stranger to the rulers of Vanaheim. And now it pressed with urgency, for she feared what might happen to her own family if the bitterness that’d formed was allowed to go unchecked.

Forces were coming to a head. She could only hope that somehow she could do something to stop it.

Making her way to the quarters where the diplomats from Vanaheim had been stored, she was pleased to see her sister was already out of doors.

Freya was wearing only her chainmail, her armor laid out nearby, bent forward as she ran the blade of a knife against a whetstone.

At Frigga’s approach her intense blue eyes flicked up, no doubt alerted by some faint sound. She ceased what she was doing but did not rise, freezing in her halfway posture.

Frigga smiled at her. “Sister,” she greeted her with geniality.

Freya did not smile back. Her aura remained unwelcoming, and she nodded her head, curt. But she gave a responding, “Sister” in reply. Hopefully it was a good start.

“You are alone,” Frigga observed. “Have you made any plans for this day?”

“No. But I’ve no need to.” Briefly Freya returned to her knife, and then finished up, sheathing it. “My time is not my own. I go where the Lady of Frey’s household bids me.”

“Surely pleasing Nanna must not occupy all your time,” Frigga said, undaunted. Tactfully she went, “The two of you have little enough in common. I can only assume that the Lady has some of her own diversions.”

“Nanna keeps almost nothing in the way of diversions,” was Freya’s return. Her voice was flat, bordering on hardness. “She finds pleasure in little enough now.”

Frigga’s smile fell and her voice quieted. “I noticed.”

Her elder sister straightened, and Frigga lifted her head to gaze up at her. Freya still possessed the same self-resolved carriage she remembered, the same striking cool beauty. While the yellow of her own hair was the golden of a shaft of dried wheat, Freya was a white-blond, and instead of the deep blue of sapphires or oceans her eyes were the color of ice.

Freya had always been serious, even when they were children. If her sister had grown more withdrawn from her, Frigga could honestly not tell. It made her hope that she hadn’t.

“Such grief still holds her by the roots while time should have been permitted to do its healing work,” Frigga continued on the subject of Nanna. “I know her pain must be great, and she has every right to mourn inside her for the rest of her life, but to nurse the feeling so could only do ill for her. How could you have stood by all the years and allowed this to happen?” she questioned. “Have you not tried saying anything to her to abate this?”

“It is not my _place_ to say anything,” Freya grunted. Her words were incredibly brusque, even for her. “She is my brother’s widow, and it art my duty to see she is provided for. If she wishes to kill herself off through misery, then so be it.”

“You cannot mean that,” Frigga protested. She knew her sister had no dislike for the other woman: if Nanna was eaten up from within while on her watch, it would be only through sheerest indifference. “Freya. If you would help me, we could work together and-”

“And what?”

Freya silenced her with a look that was only the barest degree back from being a glare.

“Nanna has _made_ her choice, has decided to wear her loss as a badge instead of trying to recover. She won’t respond kindly to any words urging her to the contrary, from me or anyone else. And she would accept help from you the least of all.”

This last statement was said with arch, unkind meaning.

Frigga drew a breath and gazed at her, eyes widening.

Freya met her eyes with a narrow aloofness in her own, a clear mark of disapproval, and did not blink.

“And you are wrong, your highness, when you presume my sister-in-law and I have nothing in common,” she informed her. “We share a scar, a stinging mark of anger left by an answered injustice.”

Frigga bristled, tensing as she prepared herself for more. But the Shieldmaid had always been brief in her words and to the point. Without bowing her head or waiting for any sign of dismissal she turned her back and walked away.

Frigga’s heart was heavy as she returned to her room.

Inside her chambers she paced the floor lightly, wringing her hands, saddened but ultimately not surprised. Though that in and of itself was tragic.

Even in the best of times she and Freya had never been close. Their temperaments and interests bore little in common. When she’d been young she was puzzled and dismayed by Freya’s rigid demeanor, while Freya considered her own behavior frivolous and overly lively.

It had actually been up to Frey to serve as the bridge between them. As Freya’s twin he shared a deep soul connection with her, communicable without even speaking. And he and Frigga had always gotten along well, his own nature free and jovial.

Until he had stopped being so jovial – until he grew gaunt, and drew away in grief from both his younger sister and all the pleasures offered by life. And then he had died, and Freya and Frigga had lost their best way of understanding each other.

Loss, Frigga mused sadly to herself, was such a funny thing. Some it brought closer together, while with others it became a wedge driving them far apart.

In her abstract thoughts her eyes happened to fall on the small golden chest she’d been presented with at Nanna’s arrival. It sat on the end of a table in her chamber, unattended to, unopened. With the shock that had come at the harsh reunion, the gift had been forgotten. Frigga had been too busy to think of it since.

A faint curiosity nudged at her, and she moved over to the object, lifting it carefully in both hands. For a moment she examined the outside, fingers running across the smooth markings on the chest’s lid. Then with greatest care she opened it for a look inside.

Set on a surface of black velvet the gift was elegant but simple, a set of handmade apples forged out of finest gold. Their round surfaces and small leaves belied the art that had gone into making them. They must have been commissioned with all dignity from a master craftsman.

And there were only three of them.

Frigga’s hands clenched tighter around what she held, knuckles turning white. The sourness of bile rose in her stomach in disbelief.

Tucking the chest under one arm she ran out of her chambers and marched straight back to the ones she had visited before.

This time there was no sign of Freya. And that was for the best, because she wasn’t the one her sister intended to speak to. She went to the door of the room that had been assigned to Nanna and rapped once against it, hard.

The door opened and a young Shieldmaid peered out. “Your majesty,” she inclined her head and lowered her eyes, respectful, “what may I do to be of service to you?”

“Let me in,” Frigga commanded.

The Shieldmaid looked back up, astonished. Wordlessly she took in the hot color to her queen’s cheeks, the sharpness of her voice. “If there’s some message you wish me to pass along to my lady-”

“No.” Frigga spoke over the guard’s stammering. “I wish to speak to her directly. I know she’s in there. You will stand aside and let me enter, and I will see her, alone.”

The Shieldmaid bit her lip, nervously considering. But Frigga was queen and this was her palace – she had the right to order her way into any room, no matter how shocking it might be.

The armor-clad young woman nodded and stepped back out of her way – then quickly made herself scarce as the queen strode in.

Nanna was sitting in front of the vanity table, hands folded in her lap as she looked blankly into the mirror. Her hair was undone completely and the dress she wore was without adornment, but she showed no affront when Frigga caught her attention.

“Your highness,” she said, her thin voice surprised but calm. “To what do I owe this unexpected honor?”

“You would regret hiding behind the reserve of ‘honor’ when you speak to me, Nanna.” Frigga’s response was anything but calm: she had drawn herself up, full of restrained regal fury, eyes blazing. “For if I chose to treat you the same there would for you be _serious_ consequences.”

Her every word came strident with the disdain of one mightily offended. “I cannot believe, after all these centuries, you would have the gall for what you have done.”

Nanna rose to her feet, smoothing her skirts down. “And just what is it that I have done, that my loving and indulgent sister-in-law rails at me so heartily?” she inquired.

“Oh,” Frigga breathed out, shaking her head, “if you would but search your memory, I think you’d find you know exactly what.”

She produced the golden chest that had been Nanna’s present, holding it at arm’s length clutched tight between her palms.

“ _This_. You had to audacity to look me in the eye, knowing, while you called it a gift to the royal family.”

Nanna gave no reply. But her lip curled, the start of a sneer. There was no remorse for what she’d done.

Temper flaring, Frigga hurled the chest at the floor between their feet. It landed closer to Nanna, sliding open with a thud, and the apples rolled out.

“Three golden apples!” Frigga lividly stated the obvious: “There are _four_ of us! You pay my son the greatest insult of all by pretending he does not even exist. As if he is not one of us, the family you know you must bow to and show _respect_. I thought it was bad enough that not once did you acknowledge Loki during the greetings exchanged upon your arrival, but _this_?”

She swayed back on her heels, features set with displeasure. “I know not if your anger has made you foolish, or blind with lunacy,” she murmured. “No wonder Freya refrained from opening this for our examination while she held it at court. A blow of disregard and open mockery to the crown, in front of all those witnesses…there would’ve been no ignoring that.” She gazed at Nanna, probing. “But clearly she still has the sense you lack.”

Silently Nanna knelt forward. She picked up the discarded chest, righting it. Then she gathered up the golden apples with both hands.

“You misread me, Frigga.” She was maintaining mostly uncharacteristic calm, but there was a note of smugness in her manner that under these circumstances Frigga could hardly believe. For such an insult, someone who valued their rank or even their _life_ should be begging for leniency, mercy. “I see no act of disregard at all in my actions. I only gave you what is exactly right.”

She held up the golden apples, one at a time, dropping them back into the velvet-lined box as she spoke. “A golden apple for the All-Father, the most powerful and wise.” She nodded to indicate Frigga, mouth briefly forming a cheerless smile. “One for his queen, as fair and shining as she.”

Nanna’s fist held the last golden apple. “And one for their son, crown prince of the realm.” She dropped it heavily to its place, and her voice darkened. “The _only_ child that they have ever born.”

The wording was far from accidental, and Frigga’s lungs seized as she caught on to Nanna’s meaning, her icy rage was swept away in an instant, replaced by the creeping touch of fear.

“No,” she protested, realizing, eyes wide as she stared at Nanna. “How could you know?”

Nanna took a step forward, fists balling as she clutched daintily at the folds of her gown, lifting her skirts as she walked over the open chest of apples.

“Go on.” She was making no feint at respect or fealty now. “Tell me how it is you expect me to bow to your adopted troll.”

Frigga flinched at the word, an incredibly derogatory term for Frost Giants. But it only underlined what was revealed. Somehow, Nanna knew the truth about Loki.

A truth that in her unstable hands became a dangerous weapon.

“How could you have found out?” Frigga repeated, demanding, her voice strong in spite of her growing horror.

“ _How?_ ” Nanna cried out, sharp. “How do you think?” Her hand pressed to the place over her heart. “Frey might have been your brother, but I was his wife! Did you really expect him to keep any secrets from me?” She scowled. “Especially after what your monster did to us?”

“I swore him to secrecy,” Frigga said numbly.

“I bore his child! His only son!” Nanna screamed. “The child whose life the murderous _beast_ you claimed as yours took!”

Frigga took a step back, then another. There was no telling what Nanna might do. Even a physical assault wasn’t out of the question.

“Nanna…”

“There can be no peace, not between us,” the other woman cut her off, voice stilted and broken. “Not so long as there’s a giant’s whelp living in the halls of Asgard, enjoying their splendors, while my noble beautiful boy rots in the ground!”

She trailed off in a shriek, her emotions having carried her past the point of words. Frigga half expected her to pick up one of the metal apples and throw it at her.

As it was, the queen swiftly let herself out of the room, the door slamming behind her, her heart pounding all the way up inside of her throat.

*

Thor knew not what’d happened, but when he received a summons from the queen he rushed to attend on his mother right away.

The guard who had brought the message had carried with him a grim feeling, and Thor couldn’t help it as he approached with foreboding and worry already rising inside him. Had someone been injured? Had there been some sort of attack?

He knew his mind was getting the best of him by jumping to extreme possibilities. But he was starting to think that any event at Asgard where he was the center of attention was cursed.

When he reached the door to the queen’s quarters he was surprised to see his brother coming from the other way. Loki was still in the form of a woman, a fact Thor had accepted wearily, and his usually immaculate appearance was out of order enough that it hinted he’d gotten dressed in a hurry. His long hair was free-flowing and his body mostly concealed by a cloak.

Loki took in Thor without expression, but a startled note briefly flashing in his eyes. Silently they came forward and met each other.

“She sent for you too?” Thor asked.

Loki nodded. “No explanations as to why. Only the strongly implied request that I should hurry.”

“The same,” Thor returned. He fell silent as he considered his brother. There had been little chance for them to speak since the throne room. “How are you? Is Darcy well?”

Briefly Loki pulled a face. “She’s fine. I’m trying to keep her hidden,” he responded, distracted, before continuing with quiet intensity: “If at all possible, try not to mention her in front of Nanna or the other guests from Vanaheim. I’m trying not to antagonize her further.”

Almost nothing his brother had said made any sense to Thor. “Why? What would Nanna care about-?”

He interrupted himself however, head turning and mouth closed tightly as he caught the sound of voices from behind Frigga’s door. He didn’t have to look to know Loki was listening too.

From beneath layers of wood, metal and stone emerged two distinct voices. None of the words could be made out, but Thor certainly recognized how his parents sounded. The All-Father was already in the queen’s chamber.

Thor turned back and met his brother in the eye.

“That makes all of us, then,” Loki remarked, cagy. Thor knew what he was thinking: if their mother wished to gather the family together in private, it could be for no small matter.

He nodded back somberly. “Aye.” They both hesitated a moment, before he took it on himself to make the leading move. “Come. Let us see what this is about.”

They drew side-by-side and walked in together.

Inside they found Frigga already sitting down, hands pressed together over her mouth, face pale. Odin stood close by her side and watched her with an expression of concern mixed with exasperation.

“There,” the king said, the minute he glanced up to notice both his sons had walked into the room. “They are both here now. Now will you explain what it is that so troubles you, so that we may begin finding a way for the problem to be mended?”

So he had no idea what was happening either – he was only attending to the summons of his wife.

“I fear it is a solution that has no immediate way of mending,” Frigga all but whispered, her voice cracking. “There is a grave threat looming, and it is possibly all my fault.”

“Here now, what’s this?” Thor demanded. Moving closer he took up one of the hands his mother had dropped away from her mouth. “Mother. Whatever it is that ails you, please, I beg of you speak plainly. You know I will do anything to help you.” He glanced at his father, his brother. “We all will.”

Frigga did not meet her eldest son’s eyes. She gazed right past him, looking at Loki instead in a way that seemed almost desperate.

“Nanna _knows_. She knows the truth.” Loki went rigid, and the queen’s head swung around to look at her husband in a similar manner. “She found out where Loki came from. She knows his origins; she knows that he is not really our-”

She stopped, voice choked and heartbroken, unable to finish.

Thor’s fingers had gone limp where they held his mother’s, and tearfully she slipped her hand from his grasp. He barely noticed. He felt curiously disconnected from his body, so caught up was he in the reeling of his mind.

For anyone outside of their immediate family to know of Loki’s race was a frightening prospect. Thor had learned the hard way that the longer a secret was buried the uglier it seemed when it first came to light. That it mattered not to _them_ where Loki’s blood had come from was meaningless – it would not sit so well with the rest of Asgard. Not once they found out they’d been deceived on so vast a scale.

And Loki still had enemies on Asgard; not the sort that hungered for his life but that watched him constantly, waiting for proof he could not be trusted. Now that he knew to listen for it Thor had seen that the prejudices of an ancient conflict were still strong with his people. If it became known that Loki was born a Frost Giant, no one would believe the false actions he took before were for anything other than treason.

There would be an outcry demanding Loki’s banishment, or worse, his life. And if the All-Father ignored these voices he ran the risk of having his subjects turn against him.

Their entire family could be threatened. All it took was for one soul to breathe the truth.

And that deadly secret was now in the hands of someone with the respect and authority to be believed when they said it, and who’d already demonstrated a vile grudge against them.

Thor stood up slowly, waiting in vain for his head to stop spinning, for the dagger of anxiety to unbury itself from his chest.

“How can this be?” Odin demanded, aghast. “Nanna could not have uncovered this on her own. She has no such resources on Vanaheim. Someone would’ve had to come to her with the information, but whom? I certainly guarded my tongue,” his one eye moved to his firstborn, “and Thor would know better than to-”

“Our allies on Earth know, but only because the fact is meaningless to them,” Thor said inanely. “But there _can’t_ have been an opportunity for them and Nanna to cross paths.”

All the while Loki remained unnaturally silent, and still, his face cast over in shadows, his eyes glazed with fear. Of course no one asked if _he_ had told anyone he’d originally come from the Jotun.

Frigga broke the silence. “I told someone.” She rose to her feet, expression remorseful. “My brother.”

Her husband both recoiled and whirled on her all at once. “ _What?_ ”

“Frey knew that I had not given birth,” Frigga stated, intonation close to pleading. “Everyone else believed me when I said I’d been unwell, that I’d kept the pregnancy a secret, even my own maids. But Frey didn’t. He knew there’d been no sign at all I was with child. You know what they used to say.”

Slowly Odin nodded, expression unreadable, though the line of his mouth was hard. “That though Frey was born twin in body to one sister, it was to the other he was closest,” he stated, quiet.

“After Loki had been presented to the court, Frey was convinced he couldn’t possibly be…mine.” Frigga wavered on the words, stubborn: Thor knew full well his mother very much considered Loki _hers_. But the truth was, he wasn’t – not in the most technical sense. “He came to me with his suspicions. He was _concerned_ , that was all, wondering what reason we could possibly have to lie.”

Her words were so insistent. Thor wondered who it was she was working so hard to convince. His father? Herself?

“You swore you would not tell anyone,” Odin said, his voice the harsh fast tone that meant he was close to yelling in his anger. “You _swore_.”

His children had been on the receiving end of this particular type of disapproval before – one stemming not from him as a father or even a god but as a _king_ , one who had to enforce discipline and take it seriously whenever one of his subjects was disobedient.

Thor could never think that he’d heard this voice directed at his mother.

“I did swear,” Frigga retorted through anger of her own, bitter and restrained. “At _your_ insistence. And likewise, by _your_ command, I lied to everyone, and I held my tongue.” She shook her head, eyes glittering with tears she was too proud to shed. “But when Frey asked me, I couldn’t find it in my heart to lie to him as well.” Her voice softened. “There should be no secrets among family.”

From the corner of his eye, Thor saw Loki twitch.

Odin drew in a breath. His words carried the weight of a proclamation.

“So,” he declared, “you broke your promise. Your oath to me as your king, the agreement we had between us as wife and husband.”

“I never wanted that agreement!” Frigga was just as firm. “It was you who would concede to nothing else.”

Odin’s patience finally broke through in a roar. “Do you not perhaps now see _why?_ ”

For some reason Thor’s mind went back, back to the day of his banishment to Earth. He and his father shouting at one another – and the whole time Loki had been there, a silent witness, presence uncared for by them both. He wondered, had this been what that moment had been like for his brother?

Had Loki felt the same sick horror he did now?

“I had Frey’s word,” Frigga protested, but with far less conviction now. “He said he would take it to his grave.”

“Except he didn’t. He took it to _Balder’s_ ,” Odin growled. His wife could no longer meet his eye, shamed by the knowledge she had made a careless if heartfelt, costly mistake. “That’s the way of it, isn’t it? He told his wife, and now Nanna knows. If she wanted to she could make all of Vanaheim our enemy! Perhaps more! All she need do is find the right way to twist this all around…”

“There’s irony in that, truly.”

Loki suddenly speaking out, voice thick with black humor, shaking with laughter he couldn’t force to come, brought the argument grinding to a halt.

Slowly Thor turned to look at him, dreading what he would see in Loki’s face.

Frigga glanced to her second child with something akin to abject fear. Odin’s face was more guarded, angry still but restraining himself, and weariness appearing in the space left behind.

Loki stared back at them with glassy eyes, shoulders drawn away from his ears, fingertips moving spasmodically, lower lip trembling.

“So once again it’s all my fault,” he said in an awful tone of voice. “I’ve ruined everything. Asgard, on the brink, because of me.” For a few seconds he managed a rueful smile. “And this time, all I had to do was exist.”

Thor’s feet were rooted to the floor, his tongue too thick to reply.

Frigga moved toward Loki, reaching out to him. “Loki…”

But he shied back from her grasp, gazing blankly at her. Whatever Frigga saw in his eyes, it made her expression crumble, guilt-stricken. “I am sorry that this is happening. Please forgive me-”

He did not. Once again, speechless, he turned his back on his family and fled the room.

Thor watched him go and recalled when the celebrations for his engagement had first begun, how happy it had made him.

Not because it was in his honor, but because it was the first time since Loki had returned that there’d been such an occasion. Thor had looked forward not only to sharing the good times with Jane but together with his entire family, united.

But now this event had become a disaster.

*

When he retreated to his room, Loki found it empty. Darcy was gone.

She had left a note for him on the bed, claiming boredom and telling him she planned to spend the day with Jane. She promised to be careful; he could as good as read her eyes rolling between the lines written on the page, but he knew Darcy had decent sense in her. It was only a matter of getting her to use it.

She could joke all she liked but she knew Nanna was a potential threat to her. She would be cautious.

Loki was glad for the moment that she wasn’t there. He was in no mood to explain what’d happened to her.

He couldn’t give name to what emotion he was feeling. It was heavy in his chest, hot, threatening to strangle him. But he didn’t know how to best exorcise it when he didn’t know what _it_ was.

There was aggravated tension in him, and partly he wanted to cause damage. He could tear the tapestries from his wall, throw things, turn over furniture, sweep the books from his shelves, scream and yell and curse. It was certainly a possibility.

In the end, though, he bypassed those options. Instead he climbed directly into bed, flopping down on the mattress and pulling the coverlet tight around his shoulders.

He drifted in some restless state halfway between a trance and dreaming. It was preferable, since it meant he didn’t need to think.

Hours later there came a knock at his door, and Loki’s eyes flew open, refocusing.

He didn’t feel like using his voice. He cast out a tendril of magic, curling unseen through the air, searching, to get a read on whoever stood outside his door.

_Mother._

He breathed in sharply.

“Loki, _please_ ,” she called from the other side, begging, he having taken too long to respond. “Let me in.”

For a few seconds he stayed where he was, face halfway into his pillow, letting her worry. Then he twisted his one hand, using a gesture to distantly unlock his door.

“Let _yourself_ in,” he told her, dully, and sat up.

He wouldn’t let her apologize to him. Every time she tried he turned away, refusing to meet her eyes, and wordlessly shook his head.

He was upset. But he wouldn’t make her feel sorry for what she had done – he knew she’d meant him no harm by it.

Finally she took the hint and fell silent. Loki remained where he was, sitting up in bed with hands resting in his lap, and his mother moved a chair so she could sit down beside him.

First she reached out to him, petting in a reassuring gesture, smoothing his now-longer hair. When he neither pulled away nor was inclined to speak, she seemed struck by quiet inspiration. Producing a brush she ran it through his hair in gentle, even strokes.

Loki waited until she was halfway through, and then he said, flat, “Shame you couldn’t have raised me as a daughter instead. Everyone would have been much better off.”

Frigga gave him a look more reproachful than chagrined, and for one instant her hand ceased being so kind with the brush: his scalp stung as his hair was yanked, hard.

Without pause Frigga returned to her measured strokes.

“You were raised as what you are. Cruel words spoken by your tutors and other children aside, do you really think you would’ve made so much a better girl?” his mother remarked, serene. “I’ve no doubt you would have been a hellion, full of mischief, no matter what. Do you imagine you’d have enjoyed lessons in the women’s circle, hours spent sitting and quietly practicing weaving or embroidery? Do you think your scholarly pursuits would’ve been mocked less were you a princess instead of a prince?”

Peaceably she finished what she was doing and dressed his hair in a long braid that fell before his left shoulder.

“And what of fighting? Oh, I know you think yourself so different from your brother in that regard, but the truth is sometimes you love a good spar much as he does. No,” she concluded, “I think all that would change is that we’d find ourselves with two Lady Sifs.”

“All right, all right,” Loki muttered testily, sinking back a bit into the pillows. Visible sulking aside though, he conceded. He knew she was right.

A smile faintly graced the queen’s lips. But then she grew more serious, brow creasing.

“You can’t help what you were born to be, Loki.” She reached out, cupping fingers under his chin and turning his face so he couldn’t avoid her eyes. She gazed at him insistently. “And there is nothing _wrong_ with that.”

He swallowed, voice thick. “Is that really what you think?” He’d meant the question to sound sardonic, almost disdainful, but instead it came out like an inquisitive plea.

“Yes,” she insisted. “And so does everyone who cares for you.” He fidgeted under her centered focus, uncomfortable, and she released him. “You are loved as you are. You need be nothing else. I thought you had learned that.”

Tightly, he whispered, “Things would be so much _different_ if only I wasn’t a Frost Giant.”

Frigga kept her head up, conviction firm. “I do not want ‘different’. I want the child I raised.”

That she could say that while he was sitting there shapeshifted into a woman, showing no trace of hesitation or even acknowledgement of the irony, almost made him laugh. But, oh, she had always been the one to rarely bat an eye in the face of all his previous…oddities.

Instead he remained quiet and where he was, and allowed her to lean in and hug him.

“I will leave you, to your peace,” Frigga said, rising after she was done, “and your thoughts, whatever they may be. I only wanted to be certain you were all right.”

“For now,” he told her softly, truthful enough, head lifting to meet her eyes.

Though such a response probably gave her no joy to hear she accepted it. True to her word, she left him.

Alone in the now deathly silent room, Loki contemplated matters. For a while he sat propped where he was, limbs stretched out like a discarded doll’s; a glum and half-focused look on his face like a moping child’s.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? He was acting like a child. How many times had he been faced head on with the difficulties of this current situation, and instead of saying or doing anything about it turned tail and fled?

Too many times, that was how many. What had happened to him?

After his fall he had been so full of desire and determination to _prove_ himself. To show he was not the weak brother Thor and the others had so often shunted aside. He was a warrior, a man, a god; his every action was a show of strength, or power, or cunning. He fought his battles alone.

He was full of rage and what he thought was righteous anger, driven by a single-minded purpose of being taken seriously. He would not be ignored any longer; they would _see_ him, and if he could not have their respect then he would take their fear, their revulsion.

When he came back he was forced to acknowledge how wrong-footed he’d been.

But more than that, Loki now realized that he had been trying, in vain, to turn back the clock.

He let himself go back to his old role, his old habits. Where before he’d had a voice he was determined to use, now he fell silent. In trying to fit back into the space he’d left behind he had gone too far in the other direction.

On Earth or any of the other realms he stood tall, he fought, he accepted attention without a second thought. But on Asgard…he let his old home comfort him like a warm blanket he was wrapped in, fearful of change, allowing himself to never be asked to do anything.

He slipped in with the shadows, lay hidden, safe, still. He let himself be ignored. He let himself become a child in his parents’ home again, not a man with his own agenda. The way they treated him reflected that more than anything: his mother coddled him, his father was too afraid to discipline him.

He knew in his heart his mother meant well, and he supposed the same was true of Odin. But enough was enough.

He didn’t want to be protectedany more. He didn’t need it. More than that, right now his family and loves ones needed _him_.

Loki rose from the bed and walked halfway to his window, staring out at the view with a half-focused gave. One hand he made into a fist and brought closer to his face; he glanced down at it then looked in front of him again. He burned with concentration, thoughts shifting.

The whole reason the people that defended and accepted him after all he did were now facing difficulties was because of him. He was the lodestone for Nanna’s anger. He knew that clearly. Whatever of her vitriol she directed at the others was only incidental.

But if she wanted Loki, the trickster, the _monster_ , then so be it. He would deal with her.

He could take care of this, and when he was finished the others could rest well and know their safety was assured.

Loki went straight to the area of the palace where his aunts were staying. No one tried to stop him – no one even saw his passing, for he kept himself shrouded in glamour.

He knocked on the door and hid his dismay when no servant or lesser guard but Freya herself answered.

He drew himself up and stared loftily into her pale eyes. “Most noble Lady Freya,” he showed her courtesy in his greeting, “I am desirous of an audience with your mistress. Will you let me pass?”

The leader of the Shieldmaids stared at him, harsh and judgmental. Loki tried to ignore how dry his throat felt.

Between her warrior nature and apparent lack of any sense of humor, it was no surprise Freya had always disapproved of him. Loki knew his chances of her permitting him by were weak at best, but there was nothing to be lost at this point in trying the straightforward approach.

But though her expression didn’t relax the slightest, without a word Freya moved back, allowing him space to enter.

Loki glided past her and resisted the urge to glance behind him when he heard the door close.

Nanna stood near the center of the room, apparently doing nothing. But she flinched when she looked up and saw Loki there.

“ _You_.” Her eyes widened, nostrils flaring slightly as she breathed out, every muscle in her face twisting in a portrait of livid disgust. “You have the _nerve_ to come this way, and bring yourself within my sight?”

“I do,” Loki replied. “After all Nanna of Vanaheim, with all due respect, it is not I that is a guest in this palace but you.”

“And yet I have more rightful claim to it than you,” she declared. “By virtue of not being a criminal, or a murderer, and being at least of the right _species_.”

Loki almost expected her to spit at him. Certainly her face looked hateful enough.

“I know what you are,” she continued, heated. “What’s more, we both know what you did.”

Evenly, Loki began, “I never meant to harm your-”

_“Lies!”_ Nanna shouted. “Nothing but lies! Who could believe a word from your mouth, when it’s all you have ever been capable of.” She moved anxiously to one side, head turning to keep her glare fixed on Loki. “As if I could think what you did to Balder was an accident: everyone knew you were jealous of him!”

“I won’t waste my breath trying to convince you of what you are so if wrongly certain,” Loki murmured. “But I will not be sent away until I have been given a chance to speak.”

Nanna glowered at him with her haggard, haunted face. He could feel the weight of Freya’s eyes, unwavering, at his back.

“And what could you possibly have to say?” was Nanna’s demand. “You took my son from me. I never had a chance to see the handsome man he was destined to become. Your _kind_ stole my husband. What is it that you have to say?”

Loki inhaled, and kept his words calm and reasoned, even as he allowed a strain of emotion in so that what he said would become a heartfelt plea.

“Your presence here, your actions; they threaten to disrupt the entire court. Maybe even more. This is my father’s kingdom, my mother’s household. The entire purpose of this gathering was to celebrate one of the happiest days in my brother’s life. Yet you would spoil that happiness for him and his intended.” He forced his shoulders to relax, lifting his chin up.

“Your quarrel is with me, Aunt. Not them. I know better than to ask if there is anything I can do to make amends with you – for there is nothing, at least not that I would willingly undertake.”

Guilty though he was in Balder’s demise, he wouldn’t offer his throat to her. His life and his liberty were his own at present and he would not trade them to soothe one woman’s wrath.

“But there must be some way I can appease you, for now. Satisfy you in the short-term so that you can keep your grudge stilled until after these celebrations are over.” Loki said earnestly, “Please, for the sake of my family and not to ruin this for them. It’s all I ask.”

He was betting in part of there being something left of Nanna’s honor. If she truly wanted to see the palace in ruins there was nothing he could do. But did she really want to destroy everything and unleash so much chaos over what she felt Loki had done to her?

All he could do was wait for her response and pray his hopes and his thoughts weren’t wrong.

Nanna was silent long enough that Loki began to feel anxious. But then her hands curled into fists, she drew her back straight, breathed in through her nose and spoke.

“You want to know what it is you can do, to appease me? So that I can make it through these wretched celebrations without ruining Thor’s delights, and remain quiet and out of the way?”

She raised her head again and met his eyes.

“ _Leave_ ,” she stated, cold. “Remove yourself from Asgard. I will not remain here peaceably so long as you are anywhere on this _planet_ , let alone under the same roof.”

There were certainly worse things she could’ve asked. Still Loki felt a hole in his stomach. “When?”

“Immediately.” The corner of her mouth twitched. “If my son did not get to make his farewells, why should you?”

Loki felt both dejected and, frankly, annoyed. He would not be banished forever: even if that was what Nanna was intending, the boundaries of the Nine Realms would not hold him for long. He would sneak back on the secret passages he’d mastered with his magic, the ways between worlds.

But it could take a while, depending where he landed. And in the meantime Thor and Darcy and the rest would not know what had happened to him. They might worry.

Or worse, they might think he had run away.

“I will do as you ask,” Loki sighed. It was a small price to pay for peace. “Shall I go now, then?”

“Oh yes.” Nanna gave an awful smile that had more the nature of a grimace. Over Loki’s shoulder she exchanged a look with Freya. “We’ll escort you to the Bifrost.”

“To make certain you don’t slight on your end of the bargain, Fork-Tongue,” Freya finished, terse. There was a glint of light against steel as she clutched the hilt of her weapon.

That glance between the two of them made Loki suddenly nervous.

It occurred to him this might be too easy. There definitely seemed to be more going on than had first appeared.

But it was too late to back out of it now.

*

At the furthest reaches of Asgard where the long arm of the rainbow bridge met the edge of what appeared to be an endless void, Heimdall the guardian stood his usual watch alone.

Everyone else in the Nine Realms, if they could, was going to the palace. Everyone else of rank wanted to be there to honor the Mighty Thor’s betrothal. Everyone else was more than happy to leave their regular duties and lives behind.

Heimdall did not, and would not. He had a job to do.

One of these days, it was to be assumed, there would finally come a celebration ceremonial and important enough that he would leave his post and join in. If not by choice then on order from his king.

Of course the king could always command him to attend _any_ feast, but none would. No matter how it was intended it would offend the watcher. So until the near-fabled day of significance came, Heimdall was left to his own devices.

Not that the isolation seemed to bother him in the slightest. He held his spot, back ramrod-straight, sword firmly between his hands, his eyes unblinking and unwavering as he gazed ahead.

Most assumed duty was enough to sustain Heimdall, but a few did wonder, quietly (as if that made any difference), how he could stand to be out there on his own all the time.

If asked, Heimdall might answer that how could he ever be lonely, with the sights and sounds of an entire universe for company.

But nobody ever asked.

In the early afternoon on Asgard a small company began making its way down the rainbow road toward the Bifrost. They travelled on foot not horseback, promising a long and awkward journey. From peering midway across the galaxy Heimdall refocused his gaze upon them to determine their identities.

No known enemies to Asgard, though that was hardly a surprise; he recognized the figures of Freya  Njorthsdottir and Lady Nanna Nepsdottir of Vanaheim.

The third person who was with them – even cloaked in seiðr and glamour, Heimdall could see who it was, especially when they were making no effort at all to hide their identity. The second prince of Asgard wore a woman’s shape, hair in a long braid as he walked alongside his aunts, glancing over at them from time to time as he kept his distance but matched their pace evenly.

Though not a single other muscle moved a thin crease formed on Heimdall’s forehead, the precursor to a contemplative frown.

The dislike both women had for Loki was notable, and well-known, especially to one who saw as much as Heimdall. What purpose could bring the three out here together was a mystery. Loki was the last person they would choose for an escort, and if they were leaving Asgard, it would not be with such little fanfare. But he could not think why the Vanaheim nobles would be leaving now anyway, so soon after they arrived.

Though Heimdall was known to be all-seeing, even his skillful eyes came with limits. Despite popular rumor he could not look into the future, and he could not truly see everywhere all at once.

Whatever conversation had taken place between the three that led them to this point, Heimdall had missed it.

Since he was not the sort to guess blindly, he waited for them to reach him, and more information to come from there.

When finally they came within reach of the observatory Nanna ceased walking and fell back, hands folded together within her sleeves, a composed look on her face. Loki stopped as well, mouth set, face wan. He gazed at the glittering crystals beneath his feet.

Did he remember every time the destructive battle he’d had here with his brother? Or did he do his best not to think on it? Heimdall could not say; Loki was well-versed in concealing emotions, and Heimdall could no more gaze inside someone’s heart or mind than he could see what was yet to come.

Leaving the other two at her back Freya kept walking. She came until there was a respectful distance between her and the watchman, and looked him eye to eye.

“Lady Freya,” he greeted her. “As always it is an honor for our paths to meet. Though I did not expect you to come again this way so soon.”

“It is business that brings me out here, noble Heimdall,” she returned, voice purposeful but detached. Her gaze drifted aside for a moment, not as if she had trouble holding the gatekeeper’s eyes but like her thoughts moved too fast to allow her own to hold still. When she looked again at him she was resolute.

“You swore to me once that I was indebted by you a favor. One that I had but to name.”

“Yes,” Heimdall assured, close to perplexed as his nature would allow to show. “For how you stood by me in defense of my watch when all others fell, I will do for you once anything you can ask of me. So long as it is not contrary to my duty or any of my other oaths.”

Freya gave a stiff nod after he confirmed these details. “Then on this day I wish to invoke that debt,” she stated.

“That is your right,” Heimdall breathed, steady.

For those inclined such as them that type of debt was usually intended to be ceremonial. Though he did not hold it against Freya for calling upon it, when he had made that promise he honestly never expected her to use it. There was nothing she would ever desire it for.

Without actually moving his eyes Heimdall glanced over at Nanna.

Unless, it was on the behalf of someone else, someone who she was honor-bound to follow, that she did it.

“Here is what I ask of you,” Freya said. Her voice was precise, words she had obviously weighed over, and rang clearly with the experienced act of command. “The next person who crosses through the Bifrost, you shall make yourself symbolically blind to their passing. You shall not tell anyone they were here or where they went after. No matter who asks you did not see them then, and you shall not see them wherever they are.”

Heimdall’s expression grew solemn and darkened. There was mischief afoot in this request; that much he could see clearly. But it did not break any of his oaths to obey.

“That is within my power to grant,” he told her. “I cannot ignore what is there, but I will hold my tongue.”

“Good,” said Freya, a fraction softer. “Then now and forevermore, we are even.”

Quickly she stepped aside, as if expecting him to speak in response and wanting no part of it.

Nanna came forward, Loki trailing her with the greatest reluctance. He had listened as Freya spoke, and several times did Heimdall see his jaw clench with displeasure.

“As representative of Vanaheim, Heimdall,” Nanna said in her reedy voice, “I command you to open the Bifrost.”

Heimdall bowed his head to her respectfully. The pieces, he thought, were beginning to fall into place. “And where do you wish me to open it to, my lady?”

Nanna gave a tight mirthless smirk. There was no word for how her eyes looked save ‘cruel’.

“Jotunheim.”

Loki drew a breath, shallow, and looked as if he felt sick. Nanna turned to him unsympathetically.

“That’s right,” she sneered, “I’m sending you _home_. To the world you belong to, and should have always remained on.”

With steady golden eyes Heimdall gazed at Loki. He waited for the young sorcerer to speak. Travel to Jotunheim from Asgard was forbidden by the King’s treaty, but Nanna had the authority to overrule that on her own behalf. But then in turn Loki’s authority overruled hers. As prince he could tell Heimdall not to activate the Bifrost.

Likely knowing what Heimdall was thinking, Loki gave an unhappy shake of his head. “Go on,” he told him. “You may do as she asks.” Then he went forward beneath the great dome to take his place for the journey.

For long as he could he looked back over his shoulder, not at Nanna and Freya but past them, back at the skyline and the city he was leaving behind.

Heimdall gave one last hard look at the noblewomen, but he couldn’t pick out the signs of whatever it was they held over Loki. He turned his back on them and went inside.

On the column at the center he sheathed his sword inside the mechanism, feeling the power thrum through his hands as the energy crackled and the air came alive. The walls began to spin.

Loki stood on the far side of the outer transport ring, hands fisted and head up in a way that was stubborn and purposeful, his back to Heimdall. But despite that Heimdall could see all around him, and he saw Loki’s face quite clearly: the way his eyes glistened, the sobs swallowed back in his throat.

It was not Heimdall’s place to judge, or make an account of anyone. He knew what was and what was not and understood the thousand details that lay beneath any story, and that none of them changed what was right and what was wrong.

It was not his to care to what race Loki belonged. Not his to care what choices he made. When Loki was king it’d been his duty to obey him; when he was a traitor it’d been his duty to protect the realm from him. Now that Loki was returned and pardoned it was Heimdall’s duty to respect him and act as if he had never left. And so that was exactly what he did.

But within the confines of his duty, though he was not supposed to, Heimdall could pick a side.

“Know this,” he said to Loki, aware the sound of the Bifrost would drown it out to those who still stood outside, “I may be forbidden to tell all where you have gone, but so long as you do not cloak yourself from my sight with your magic I will know where you are. And save few, all oaths are less than absolute.”

Loki flinched in surprise, but after a moment he gave a weak ironic smile.

“Oh believe me, Guardian,” he said, “I know.”

White lightning struck down and the Bifrost’s energy filled the room. And when it cleared, Loki was gone.

*

Despite their best efforts Jane and Darcy had managed to get on each other’s nerves after a few hours, though neither of them came out and actually said so.

Maybe it wasn’t that surprising. It could be annoying enough when they were working together. If they hadn’t met through Jane’s research they probably never would’ve been friends: theirs was a camaraderie that could only be forged by having gone through a weird, life-altering experience together, in spite of clashing personalities. Still, sometimes it was a bad thing when they felt somehow obligated to hang out.

Or maybe nowadays they were just making even more of an effort because both were aware of the possibility that one day they were going to be in-laws.

And wasn’t _that_ a strange thought, Jane ruminated. Even the fact that she was going to have in-laws, actually. It almost didn’t sound like her.

In only a year, two at the most, she was going to be a married woman. That knowledge both scared and thrilled her.

If she dwelled on it too long she threatened to be overwhelmed.

Darcy had excused herself and gone off in search of her boyfriend. Jane once again pulled out her notebook, hoping this time she could make some progress before she got interrupted.

To her supreme frustration however she found she couldn’t focus. She stared and scribbled at her page but the answers wouldn’t come.

Eventually she set the notebook down in a huff.

Never mind that she’d only just gotten started. Clearly she needed a break.

She halfheartedly ran a brush through her hair, slipped on her shoes, and went out the door for a walk.

Leery of the crowds she stuck to the smaller back halls, the ones she was pretty sure were used exclusively by servants. Despite not knowing her way at all she wasn’t worried about getting lost. She’d just have to ask for directions from somebody.

Or, barring that, keep wandering until she ended up back in a main area. Once somebody recognized her she was sure Thor would come running.

That thought brought a fond smile to her lips.

As exasperating as he could be at times, she kind of liked having her own personal hero.

Jane was shaking her head with recollection and laughing to herself when all of a sudden she heard a voice.

“There you are.”

It was a sultry smug feminine tone, and one Jane definitely didn’t recognize. She whirled in alarm.

“I was wondering how long it would take before I was fortunate enough to find you alone.”

A woman stood there with flowing blond hair and a curvy figure made all the more noticeable by how her sleeveless white dress was cut to call attention to it. She watched Jane with piercing green eyes.

Taking a step forward, she moved with the lazy danger of a jungle cat. “So,” she mused, “you are the little mortal that Thor is so fond of.” The look she cast up and down was clearly unimpressed. “Well. I must say that I can’t really see what your appeal is, but I suppose there’s no accounting for taste.”

Jane backed up, uneasy. “Who are you?” She glanced around but there was no one else in sight.

“Oh, don’t trouble yourself, darling. In a minute it isn’t going to matter.”

Before Jane could even consider yelling for help the woman reached out with her slender but surprisingly strong arms and grabbed her.

She forcefully cupped Jane’s face in both hands, fingertips brushing her cheekbones. As Jane let out a shocked squeak of dismay she pressed a hard kiss fully covering her mouth.

Instantly her vision swam and faded. Her head felt dizzy and light. A mist seemed to settle over her: she could feel it, itching against her skin, tingling. At the same time her breath was being drawn hard, harder than should be possible, up out of her lungs. Like the woman was pulling something out of her, taking it for her own.

Where their lips met came a bruising heat. Jane couldn’t cry out as it was force-fed into her, scorching the back of her throat.

Abruptly the woman let go and shoved her away. Still seeing dancing spots Jane lost her balance, falling back to the floor, barely able to catch herself with her arms as she landed on her bottom.

She coughed, in pain and breathless, and lifted her head to stare upward with wide open eyes.

The woman tossed her hair, smiling, and before Jane’s very eyes she _changed_.

Her locks grew shorter, darker. Green eyes faded to brown. Her proportions became more petite. Her skin went from the unearthly pale of alabaster and cream to the more expected shade for a woman who worked in New Mexico but still never seemed to get enough sun. Even her clothes changed, from her filmy white dress with the golden accents to Jane’s button-down shirt and baggy jeans.

As Jane gaped at her, speechless, the woman who now looked _exactly_ like her put one hand on her hip and stretched the other out in front of her, fingers curled back as she looked with a discerning eye.

“Hmmph,” she murmured – in Jane’s voice, at that, “it’s not much, is it?” She turned to where the nearby polished wall’s surface was slightly reflective, sticking her chest out and pouting and striking poses that were decidedly un-Jane-like. “If not for the crown, frankly, I think _you’re_ getting the better end of this deal.”

“What do you mean?” Jane started to ask, but stopped in astonishment when her voice came out wrong.

She looked down and saw strands of blond hair and white lace and more cleavage than she’d ever had in her life.

“Oh,” she said in realization, voice tiny.

Looking back up she found the other woman grinning at her with her kidnapped face.

“That’s right. You get to keep _my_ body. Enjoy it while you can.” Meaningfully she stretched out her left hand and wiggled her ring finger. “Because in the meanwhile, _I’m_ going to marry Thor in your place.”


	4. The Snow Maiden

The Bifrost deposited Loki at the crest of a valley in the wilds of Jotunheim, no sign of civilization or another living thing for miles around. Nothing but snow and empty lands, doubly the barren wasteland the habited part of the world appeared.

The cold wind howled, snow coming up to Loki’s shins, more kicked up to blow against his face.

He took one thorough look around, determined there was nothing out there distinguishable, picked a direction at random and started moving. This was not a realm where it did any good to remain in one place for long.

For hours it seemed, he walked.

He did not let his mind wander for then he risked being eaten up by the crushing weight of despair. His family, his home, the warmth of Asgard had been taken from him – everything he had done, and still again he was an outcast, bereft. No, he would not think on it.

Maybe later, when there was time. Maybe once he found someplace safe to rest. For now he needed all his strength to find shelter, to focus on what came next.

Loki had a plan, or at least the rough beginnings of one. He needed to find one of the ways between worlds, the dimensional rifts he could sense and use to slip from one realm to the next. He knew at least _one_ existed on Jotunheim – after all, he’d found it before.

It didn’t matter how far he had to go or how long he had to search. He would find a way off this world, and even if he had to journey through a hundred others, he _would_ find his way to Asgard. He believed it, fiercely, with every part of his body and soul.

That was the only thought he allowed room for in the single path of his mind. How he’d survive in the meantime, what he would do if he actually encountered some Frost Giants – Loki didn’t know. He would deal with those obstacles as he faced them.

He walked and walked, head down, hands clasped against his shoulders, feet sinking with every step. The howling winds tugged his hair and tore through his clothes, lashing him to the bone.

It was so _cold_. Asgardians were a hearty people, resistant to extremes, and for understandable reasons Loki’s tolerance for cooler temperatures was greater than most. But this kind of prolonged exposure threatened even his limits. And he had not left provisioned or outfitted for travelling.

He had to keep moving. Perhaps he could find a cave he could hide in, someplace relatively dry and out of the wind, where he could bundle his limbs more thoroughly, and build a fire…

But time ticked by and there was no sign of anything. No cave, no structure, no change in the landscape, not even an animal he could run down and kill for its pelt. Nothing out there but endless snow and ice.

Nothing out there but the merciless cold.

Loki clenched his jaw so his teeth couldn’t chatter. The edges of his lips and the part of his legs that was submerged tingled with a numb pinprick sensation. He could feel his body shivering. Then he stopped feeling at all.

He had to do something, soon, he realized, or he ran the risk of becoming terribly ill or even freezing to death.

_Think,_ he commanded himself desperately. _Think._

The terrible irony was that he was born to the one race built perfectly to survive the inhospitable conditions of this world. But both changeling and shapeshifter though he was, Loki did not know how to take on his full Jotun form.

The only times he changed in the past were when coming into contact with things that would damage him had been pure Asgardian: the Casket of Ancient Winters, and the touch of another Jotun.

He considered it. It seemed that his body reverted as a defense mechanism, or a reaction as a result of physical contact with something that was incredibly cold.

Maybe, as incredible as it seemed, the solution to his predicament was to allow himself to get _even colder_.

Loki stopped walking and after only a moment of extra contemplation began to methodically strip his layers. He unbuttoned his cloak, removed his armor. He took off his boots and his gloves. He even pulled off his leggings, leaving nothing but the long sleeveless green tunic he’d been wearing belted as a dress.

He left the articles of clothing in a pile dropped behind him, abandoned. Loki stepped forward into the tundra and drew a breath, wiggling his toes against the powdery surface of the ice-coated ground.

By the Nine, it was _freezing_. He hoped he’d been right in his guess, otherwise he wasn’t getting out of this with all his extremities.

He pulled himself up and kept moving again, steeling not to cry out as the winds attacked him once more.

One foot in front of the other. One step at a time, hard as even that could be at times. _You are Loki of Asgard, and you will not stop._

He couldn’t feel his arms, his legs. His mind was growing fuzzy. At one point numbly he looked down, expecting to see he was trailing bloody footprints from frozen ruined stubs.

Instead he saw that his feet were perfectly formed. And blue.

His hands were carved blue Jotun-flesh as well. And the blue was spreading, sweeping up past his elbows and climbing slowly over his knees as he watched.

He didn’t feel the cold anymore, not because his skin was frozen but because the cold no longer bothered him.

It was working. He was turning Jotun. He would survive.

The revelation brought on a mixture of detached triumph, relief, and revulsion. But Loki did not allow himself to dwell on any of these feelings.

Still holding himself slightly, shoulders hunched, he kept on making his way across the empty expanse of Jotunheim in a straight unerring line.

*

Thor had been in an unpleasant mood ever since the conversation with his mother and father.

He skulked his way through the palace, avoiding all company, a frown set on his face as he tried to imagine what was to happen next.

But what could be done? Even the All-Father seemed to despair of there being any action they could take. And certainly they couldn’t move against Nanna so long as she did nothing to them first.

They were trapped in limbo, a threat hanging over their heads, helpless to change the situation until their foes did something.

To feel so powerless against potential danger frustrated Thor to the point of fury. And he shuddered to think that once again he was caught up in a war amongst family.

Nanna and Freya may have been long distant, but they were his kin. In his youth he had taken for granted that family was the strongest thing, resolute and with bonds unshakable.

How _wrong_ the past few years had proven him. It seemed with every generation came new players determined to tear each other apart.

Abruptly Thor stopped in his pacing and gave a swift shake of his head.

Enough of this, he decided. It had never been in his nature to sit idly by while a growing danger loomed. Kin or not, politics or no, he had to take action.

Loki: Loki would know what to do. Surely his clever brother could with some prompting concoct a scheme to get them all out of this. Perhaps he even already had; it had been some hours since Thor had seen him last. No doubt in the time since he’d been thinking. That he had left his brother alone because in wake of the revelations concerning him he probably desired his space had slipped Thor’s mind completely.

He turned around with the aim of finding Loki immediately. He would check the obvious places first: his brother’s room, then the library-

“My lord,” a guard appeared from a hallway behind him, clearing his throat, “I was sent to tell you that your betrothed wishes to see you at once.”

Thor had been turning back to give the interrupting guard a disapproving frown, but he stopped at the mention of who it was that sought him. _Jane._ But of course he would always find time for her.

Considering the course of events so far, his mind immediately went to the negative. “Has something happened to her?” he demanded. “Has she been harmed in any way?”

Despite the amount of reserve common to the royal guard, the man looked instantly bemused.

“No, nothing of the sort. I was under the impression she was merely desirous of your company.”

Thor let out his breath and relaxed. Were it anyone else he wouldn’t have permitted the interruption; of course it was annoying. But finding Loki could wait if only for a little while. Poor Jane – they were supposed to be celebrating together and here had been so caught up in other things he was ignoring her.

Of course he would put right things by his love at once.

Thor nodded. “I will attend on her. Where does she wait for me?”

“In the lady’s chamber, my lord.”

Thor went to the room and entered and found Jane was alone – but the situation must have been a recent one, for the room bore earmarks of servants having been there not too long before. The space had been tidied and rearranged, and looked much cleaner and brighter than when Thor had been there last.

Everything gold had been polished and the curtains had been tied back allowing the sunlight to sweep in and illuminate. Thor was used to seeing books scattered everywhere, Jane’s open suitcases lying on the floor, but it must have been all put away for there was no sign of any of these items. An enchanted harp that had been a gift to Jane from the ambassadors of Alfheim had been set up in the corner – Jane had told Thor she found the repetitive plucking of its strings irritating, and kept it contained to its box, but she must have warmed to object for its honeyed notes filled with room.

“ _Thor_.” Jane greeted him with a voice so enthusiastic and warm it brought a smile to his face. “My love. It feels like it’s been _ages_ since I’ve seen you last.”

He chuckled, flattered by such attention from her. “My deepest apologies if my actions left you feeling like I am ignoring you. You know nothing could be further from the truth. It’s just that I have had a lot on my mind.”

“How uncharacteristic,” Jane teased. As Thor moved closer she put a hand up to caress the side of his face.

She was wearing a gown in a color of dusky rose that flattered her complexion, fabric draped close over the curves of her body, the hem outfitted with a small train. Though it was unlike her to be so attired on a regular basis Thor could not help being glad to see it. For though his Jane was perfectly lovely always, she became magnificent in her beauty on the occasions she took extra attention to her appearance.

He beamed down at her, taking her hand in his to briefly kiss her palm, before letting her stroke him once more. “You look well today,” he observed. “You are happy?”

“Why shouldn’t I be?” she responded. Since his having entered the room, not once had the smile left her face. She was so pleased she seemed almost smug. Her eyes sparkled with every melodic twist to her voice. “Aren’t I the luckiest woman in all the Nine Realms, to be chosen for such an honor?”

Though it was said so eagerly Thor knew she couldn’t be sincere, it a joke based on one of their earlier conversations, and he laughed merrily at it, amused.

“You know full well, Jane, the honor is mine,” he reminded her, running his fingers against the softness of her hair. Her eyes half-lidded, catlike and demure, as he gazed at her. “I have never seen this dress before,” he noted, far more curiosity than disapproval.

“Oh, what, this?” She leaned to the side just enough for it to even better frame her figure. The movement had an artful grace in it which surprised him. “I had them bring in a seamstress to whip it up for me.” Her nose wrinkled with an impish half-grin. “All of a sudden I just…didn’t like anything in my closet.”

“It becomes you greatly,” Thor complimented her earnestly. “Though never mistake that you need embellish yourself to win my approval.”

“Oh, but,” she countered, “it isn’t just for _you_.” She twirled in place. “After all, if I am to be a queen one day, isn’t it high time I started acting like one?”

Though it touched Thor that she thought it important enough she start acting more like what was expected of a member of royalty for his sake, it concerned him also. He loved Jane for the brilliant and driven woman she was, fixated on things so different from that which dominated his own life. He would hate for that woman to change.

“When you are queen you will be a well-loved one,” he assured her, seriously. “For our people will see the same calm strength and wisdom in you that I do.”

“Oh, Thor.” She brushed him aside, laughing. “To think that you would ever find virtue in _restraint_ over power and beauty.”

Thor stood where he was, face falling into a frown, thrown off by such a strange and dismissive comment from her and not certain how to take it.

Not noticing, Jane went over to the mirror and started playing with her hair, primping. She looked over several pieces of jewelry and dresses that had evidently been laid out for her approval.

Thor cleared his throat. “Glad as I always am to see you, I must take leave of you for a short while. I must go and find Loki.”

She looked up from where she had been holding a different dress against her body for examination. “But you only just got here,” she protested.

“It was only yesterday you made a remark that I think was supposed to indicate you felt smothered,” Thor chuckled. Too much ‘togetherness’ sometimes grated on his intended’s nerves.

“Well if I did, then I misspoke.” Jane dropped the fabric and strode her way back to him. “We _should_ be spending more time together. Anyway, for what reason could you want to go and speak to that annoying brother of yours?” With a fingertip she trailed a quick line down his chest. “ _I_ can make you happy. I know exactly what you want.”

The sultry tone she spoke in didn’t work on Thor: he was too offset by how easily she had moved onto it, after speaking so disparagingly of his brother.

He knew Jane and Loki didn’t exactly get along, but when had she become hostile toward him? Had something happened Thor had missed?

“You know I find your company preferable to almost any other,” he began, trying to be reasonable, “but my need to see Loki is very urgent.” Jane started to shake her head, lips pursing. He hurried on, explaining, “We must figure out what to do about our aunts. Something has happened; the situation has grown even more-”

Jane pressed two fingers over his lips, forcing him to silence. “ _Shhhh_ ,” she hushed him, acting like she thought he was being foolish. “That isn’t important. Everything can wait.”

Reaching up she cupped his chin between her hands, fingers stroking his beard.

“Don’t you love me? Shouldn’t you want to spend every waking moment together, so you can dote on me like I deserve? So we can bask in each other’s company?”

Thor stared at her. The more and more she spoke he realized something was off, the words she was using not at all like ones she normally would. At first he thought it a jest of some kind but the longer she talked the more wrong she sounded.

“What’s going on?” he demanded. “Jane. What’s the matter with-”

“Nothing is wrong.” She spoke over him, firm. “Listen to me. Everything is fine.”

For a moment her eyes flashed, and in that instant he could’ve sworn they were the wrong color.

Where her hands touched him he began to feel extra warmth, a faint scent like perfume in the air wafting over him. He could feel it start to cloud his mind, lulling him into compliance.

There was a nagging insistent feeling that he had experienced this somewhere before. His alarm and suspicion instinctively compelled him to resist, even as he reached for his memory. For what reason was this familiar? He swore he had it; it was almost on the tip of his tongue…

But the more Jane petted him and spoke to him soothing words of reassurance, the less he felt inclined to struggle. His anxiety and doubt faded away. He relaxed.

“Everything is fine,” Jane repeated confidently, calm, smiling. “Isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he answered her back, effortless and obedient.

He gazed at her blissfully, unable to tear his eyes away, not wanting to look anywhere else. Somehow she seemed even more beautiful to him than she had ever before – truly, she was the fairest being in all of creation. Thor was awash in feelings of devotion and longing for her.

The world had evaporated into a wondrous rosy haze, and Jane was the only thing he could focus on, the only thing that mattered in it. The rest of his thoughts were cloudy and unimportant. He didn’t care how thick and strange his head felt. He couldn’t remember that only a few moments before he had worries and other priorities. Now all he cared about was Jane and whatever her desires were.

This made perfect sense to him. Wasn’t that naturally how it should be?

Jane reached up and patted his cheek. “Now, darling Thor,” she told him, “I think we should sit down, over here. And you can tell me of _all_ the delightful things you’re going to do for me, when I am your queen.”

She draped herself sideways on a cushioned couch and said, silkily, “Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Thor beamed at her, doting. “Yes,” he agreed. “Nothing would please me more.”

*

Jane was walking very, very slowly down the halls of Asgard which now seemed far too empty for her liking.

Time was dragging by. She felt like it’d been hours, and she still hadn’t seen anyone.

Then again, it also felt like it had taken her hours to get anywhere at all.

She wasn’t sure what she had expected the woman that attacked her and stole her shape to do to her next. But it certainly hadn’t been to just _leave_ her there, lying on the cold marble floor.

That was precisely what the woman had done. Stepped around Jane and walked right past, without so much as a look back over her shoulder.

It took Jane a long time to get up again. It was hard moving in a body that no longer felt like her own, and besides the obvious she suspected the sorceress had _done_ something to her that hampered her physically. Her actions were stiff and awkward, and when she began walking finally it was with a limp.

Despite searching she could find no specific injuries; it was more a general sense of all-over pain that had been shackled to her, dragging her down.

It was fading as she went but not near quick enough for her liking. Though she wasn’t overly vindictive by nature, Jane hoped that the woman would be caught and punished soon for more than practical reasoning.

She was partially bent over, arms held at an awkward position close to her chest, her gait hobbled. She had called out more than once for help in the beginning, but stopped when it was obvious no one could hear her: her voice was weak, her throat still dry and raw.

Both panic and despair were beginning to work their way in. She had no idea who the woman was, or what she intended to do that she’d needed to look like Jane to do it.

Jane was scared she might try to hurt someone. The worst possibility she could think of was the impersonator would go after Thor.

She was moved to the point of almost crying out with relief when finally a pair of guards looking like they were walking by on their rounds appeared, and spotted her. Jane stopped where she was, sagging, and took a much-needed moment to catch her breath.

But she had failed to think the situation through entirely.

The guards did a double-take when they saw her, lowering their spears as their faces took on looks of alarm. “Halt!” one of them shouted at her. “Stay where you are, Enchantress!”

“Intruder in the halls!” the second one cried, turning his head to shout back in the direction they’d come from. “Send aid immediately! Summon the All-Father!”

“Wait,” Jane protested weakly. “No, you don’t understand! I’m not…”

No one was listening to her. Before she had time to stammer out another sentence she found herself completely surrounded, a circle of eight Asgardian guards facing her on all sides with weapons drawn.

Whoever they _thought_ she was that person was clearly considered to be a threat.

Heart hammering, Jane swallowed and gazed back at them wide-eyed, doing her best not to move or make a sound or do anything that might be mistaken for an attack and provoke them.

“Where is the All-Father?” one of the first guards asked another.

The addressed guard wore a more decorated set of armor, indicating his superior rank. “The king has withdrawn to his private chambers and asked he be left alone for anything less than important matters of state,” was his gruff response. “There was no need to disturb him for this.”

“No need?” a different guard protested. “But this is Amora! Don’t you remember how much trouble she’s caused in the past?”

“And besides, her banishment was placed by the All-Father himself,” another chimed in. “Won’t he have to deal with her eventually, to decide her new punishment for going against that command?”

Jane decided to take the opportunity to break in. “Please, you have to listen to me-”

Her entreaty was halted by the spears being raised again and thrust forward closer, the captain’s this time pointed directly at her throat. She leaned her chin back from the deadly point, suitably cowed.

“Not one more word, vile temptress,” the captain of the guards spat. “Speak again and there will be consequences. I’m not fool enough to give you the chance to be-spell us.”

He glared at her, and then turned to look at his men.

“King Odin is in the midst of celebrating his son’s engagement,” he decided. “He shouldn’t be bothered with this now. We’ll keep the sorceress contained somewhere until after. Then he can deal with her, at his leisure.”

“Or before, if he chooses to,” one of the other guards pointed out.

His commander gave a stiff nod. “That is the king’s prerogative.”

Changing their positions around her, weapons still raised, they indicated that Jane should start walking again. And she realized that if she didn’t do something to convince them of her identity they were going to lead her to be locked up in a cell or a dungeon. Maybe even to be physically punished. Whoever this Amora was, it was obvious from the way they were acting that they considered her to be some kind of dangerous criminal.

If she didn’t speak out now she’d be suffering in her place. She had to risk it.

The words rushed from her mouth swiftly before any of them had a chance to stop her. “But I’m not who you think I am! This is all a mistake; I’m not this Amora person. I’m…”

She stopped, voice fading abruptly. Her mouth felt dry as the back of her throat burned.

The guards were gazing at her, unsympathetic and un-amused. Quickly Jane shook her head to clear her dismayed confusion, drew a breath and tried again.

But all she found herself doing was gaping senselessly. Nothing would come out her mouth.

One hand pressed to the hollow of her throat, bewildered.

She remembered the heat she had felt forced by magic down her throat. Was this another spell that had been cast on her, making it so she was unable to speak her own name?

“Enough of this.” One of the guards seized her arm, impatient. “Whatever trick you’re trying, you won’t be given a second chance to make it work. Time to lock you up where you can’t do any more harm.”

Jane was dragged away between two guards, escorted on all sides by six others, pleading with them to no avail every step of the way, powerless to reveal to them her identity.

*

Loki no longer felt the sting of the cold, but his journey by that was not made into an easy one. He was still burdened by the weight of time.

There was no way of telling if days or nights had passed when the sky was a dark grey to begin with and never changed. Nothing about the landscape ever altered, no rocks or trees or changes in the level of the terrain. Just a flat, open, empty expanse that stretched past what his eyes could see. There was not another living soul to be seen, not even a lone rangy animal.

He walked without rest, and maybe his legs should have grown tired by now, maybe his feet should be sore. He couldn’t know.

Almost he could consider the possibility that none of this was real. That he hadn’t been cast into Jotunheim but another fit of madness; that it was a nightmare, a fever dream, concocted by his own mind. That _this_ was his punishment: eternal isolation.

At times the wind sounded like malicious whispers or mocking laughter.

But Loki ignored the doubts and pushed onward. He couldn’t allow himself to grow confused or hesitant.

A liar must not believe his own lies, no matter how they are formed, how unsettling or persistent they are.

Jotunheim was a vast world, and much of it filled by abandoned spaces. Loki ignored the thought that he might miss civilization or a dimensional rift or a sign of anything useful entirely – that he might walk straight from one barren end to another. That couldn’t happen to him. It could _not_.

It wasn’t fate he put his faith in. By now he knew better than to think fate would ever show him kindness. His faith was in his own providence.

He was Loki. He would prevail. He would survive, because one way or another he always did.

No matter what the price.

He shuffled along, hands still clasped at his shoulders because he had forgotten what to do with them, gaze long gone half-focused with staring off ahead. At first he thought he imagined it when he caught glimpse of something moving.

Then the moment passed and it became clear that, no, there was something really out there. Three distinct dark shapes approached him from ahead.

Loki snapped out of his half-awake trance, body tensing with a feeling like electricity, mind racing as he tried to take stock of the situation, to ready himself if necessary for flight or fight.

The shapes were not Jotun. They were barely taller than he. Loki relaxed somewhat, and kept attentively looking. Eventually the figures resolved themselves into three men.

They were burly, hairy, thickly-bearded and wrapped in head-to-toe layers of fur. They carried clubs and stone weapons and behind them they dragged the carcass of some shaggy ice-beast they had killed. Their helmets had broken horns on them. They looked the image of what most modern-day mortals on Midgard pictured when they thought of Vikings.

They looked to be mortal but almost undoubtedly weren’t; not human, anyway. Many alien races on the branches of Yggdrasil had a bizarrely similar appearance.

After consideration Loki deduced they must’ve come from Svartalfheim. Most thought of that land as being home to the goblins and Dark Elves, but the truth was far more complicated and varied: it was a lawless realm, where regions were spread out and detached from one another.

Many races made Svartalfheim their home and many of them didn’t answer to the same leaders, or consider themselves of one people. The collective was often referred to as “the Broken Worlds”. Many of its people were nomadic or little better than scavengers – though they knew they risked death to do so, they would wander into Jotunheim to trade or forage for anything they could use to survive.

A weak grasp of hope flared to life within Loki’s breast. Svartalfheim was not Asgard, but this could be the answer. These men could be his way home.

He slowed his pace as he collected himself best he could, making himself look strong and standing upright. He could see that the bearded men in the furred pelts were slowing too: he could not yet make out their faces, but there was a sense of wariness over their group.

“Oy!” one of them called out, bellowing, a mitten reaching for the hilt of a thick dagger. “Who goes there?”

Belatedly Loki realized his eyes had become sharper, better at seeing through darkness and snow. Though the men were almost clear as day to him, to their eyes he likely seemed no more than a blurred shadow.

“It’s all right,” he called back in reply. The tremor he feigned, of fatigue and timidity, came all too easily. “Whoever you are, I’m no threat to you, I swear.”

The others relaxed enough it didn’t seem they were about to attack him. Loki walked forward. The wind suddenly began to die, and fresh snow had long stopped falling, the air between them growing clearer as the gap was closed.

When he came into sight the three barbarians’ eyes went wide and they stared at him openly.

Loki thought of what they must be seeing. He was full Jotun in appearance, his eyes red, his skin blue and marked. He’d not a giant’s size, which alone must be confusing. But then there was the fact he’d forgotten completely about his seiðr, his body still female.

There was no such thing as a Frost Giant woman. They were a race entirely of brutish male beasts. So what these men thought they were looking at was proof of the impossible.

Loki’s hair still hung in the elegant braid Frigga had woven, shining black in a landscape of pale white. He stood there poised fawn-like on bare feet, all slender curves and lean muscle. The lines of his body were covered by no more than a thin shift that fell below his knees, arms naked.

“By earthquake and thunder,” one of the men remarked in a brogue accent, gazing in wonderment. “What is _this?_ ”

“It’s a lady,” his closest complain said stupidly. He scratched the top of his head. “Thought the Jotun didn’t _have_ ladies.”

The third man stepped closer and reached out as if he would touch Loki to prove his existence.

Loki pulled back, dropping his head in a show of reluctant shyness.

“They do not. I was born an anomaly. My own kind would try to kill me on sight out of revulsion,” he told them, making up a story on the spot. “I seek safe passage to another realm, so that I can get away. Can you help me?”

Playing the role of the delicate maiden in need of rescue was an easy ruse. It was one he’d used many times over the centuries.

He batted his eyes and looked up at the men beseechingly. They exchanged uneasy, bemused glances.

Finally one of them asked suspiciously, “There’s no one following you, is there? Not a band of angry giants.”

“No,” Loki gulped, “praise Ymir. I’ve not seen any souls but you for the past few days.”

“Well,” the fattest of the three men observed, “there’s no reason we can’t lead her back to the gap with us, is there? Not like it costs us anything.”

“Giants are a dangerous lot,” one of the others stated, nervous.

“Ach, this wee lass looks like she couldn’t harm a dragonfly,” the final man retorted. He put a gloved hand on Loki’s shoulder, patting in a comforting gesture. “It’s all right, dearie. You can come along. You’ll be safe with us.”

“Thank you so much for your kindness.” Loki lowered his eyes, thinking all the while how easy it would be with a quick bolt of magic, or a blade formed of ice, to strike in an instant a dozen vulnerable spots on the man’s body. “I have no way to repay you.”

He travelled back the way they’d come amongst their party, wrapped in a smelly thick bearskin one of them had generously given him. The three men chattered merrily. They introduced themselves; Loki thanked them politely and instantly forgot their names. He’d not the mind at present for insipid details.

They reminded him a bit of the Warriors Three, if the Warriors Three had been comprised entirely of three particularly terse and ineloquent versions of Volstagg. They were gruff, muscle-bound men, used to a hardened life of travelling and who clearly thought of nothing more than how to make a few coins and from where their next meal was coming.

Still. They were kind enough to escort him, when there was nothing obvious in it for them. So long as they didn’t attempt to lay hands on him Loki intended to do them no ill.

The ‘gap’ one of them had referred to earlier turned out to be a small rift in the landscape where the ways of Svartalfheim and Jotunheim bled through to one another. It was tiny and weak, barely a true portal, but stable enough any being could simply walk through, whether or not they possessed any magic.

The odds of Loki being able to pinpoint this exact spot on his own, aptitude for the winding magics of the World Tree or no, bordered on slim. He was exceedingly fortunate to have stumbled across these men when he did. He couldn’t deny that.

“Nothing to fear then,” the tallest of the men, the de facto leader, who seemed to have appointed himself Loki’s protector, told him. He and his fellows hefted their weighty kill onto their shoulders. “This might tingle a bit.”

“Hold your breath,” the fat one advised. “Makes it easier.”

Loki fought the impulse to roll his eyes. “If you say so.”

His relief at leaving that hellish frozen landscape behind him was overwhelming, but he managed to keep all outward signs of it contained.

It had been a long time since Loki had been in Svartalfheim, especially alone. He looked around, seeing they appeared to be in some sort of crude trading post, but didn’t recognize anything. Considering the size of the world, how spread-out it was, that didn’t particularly surprise him.

The three men traded the meat of the creature they had killed for supplies and gold, and set off for the nearby tavern. Loki stayed with them for it would’ve seemed out of the character he was presenting to wander off yet.

The men bought food for themselves, and some for him too, and then proceeded to spend most the rest of their money on tankards of ale.

As the hours began to wear on the remarks more grew ribald, and Loki caught his companions sneaking him longing glances. He didn’t think they would try anything on their own, but certainly they were growing hopeful.

It was common for a woman in this situation, alone and in need of aid, virtue likely already comprised, to voice her gratitude to her rescuers with her body. Loki had done this plenty of times before, using it as the perfect exit route: pleasuring the men whose nobility he had taken advantage of and then slipping away afterward while they slept. He could do it here. It would be easy.

But his indifference grew weaker at the thought of Darcy.

Though it was hardly the same as a betrayal out of lust, he found himself strongly _wanting_ to stay faithful: to know that hers were the only hands he allowed on his body, her touch the only one he would ever need.

This was the full power of love, Loki realized – that it could move the trickster who had worn a thousand faces and lives to desire only monogamy.

So instead he took more subtle method. He bided his time, and encouraged the men to drink more and more liquor. He laughed at their jokes, eyes lighting up, smiling back at them, cheeky. He pretended to drink too, while secretly using sleight of hand so not a drop spilled down his throat.

And when all three of them lay passed out, stupefied and snoring, carefully Loki helped himself to one of their cloaks, fastening it around his neck and pulling the hood over his head to conceal him. Then he left the tavern.

It was growing dark but Loki didn’t fear a night on Svartalfheim. He spent evenings in his adventuring youth camped out in her forests – the things that dwelled there could hardly be bested by even the roughest town.

Though he had no fear of the dangers this world had in store he fretted over his next move. He would keep his identity secret for now: he had too many enemies, both as Loki the prince of Asgard and as Loki the outcast sorcerer. But that meant he was bereft of allies or influence, at present with no money or arms or even armor, supplied only with his wits and his magic.

It’d been more than enough to get him out of worse scrapes in the past. He was harried though by the long journey he could see before him.

He’d no idea where precisely in the realm he was, or in which direction he should travel to find a route that could take him back to Asgard. He longed for home, the embrace of his friends, his brother’s laugh and his mother’s voice, and the sight of Darcy’s face. And it could be some time before he got back to them.

He would get nowhere though by standing in one place. So once again Loki walked alone, keeping eyes open for sign of anything that could aid him.

The weather this time of year on Svartalfheim was muggy, and Loki found it weighed especially heavy against his skin. It was hard to keep the cloak wrapped so tightly around him, longing for even the slightest relief from stifling temperature, but he had no choice. Frost Giants weren’t viewed by every race as by the Asgardians, but they were not a well-loved people. He preferred not to take any chances.

As he neared what he estimated the center of the settlement, Loki found himself passed by one hurrying woman, then another, then another.

Something appeared to be happening. Curiosity raised, he followed the crowd.

There was a tent set up outside a rundown inn, two bored-looking guards staked outside the entrance. A line of young women winded back from that point, where they were being let inside one by one.

Some didn’t come out again. Those that did, appeared either disappointed or fuming.

Loki watched for a little while, but could make no sense of it. He crept over to the end of the line.

“What’s this?” he inquired of one of the waiting women.

She cast him an impatient glance. “Auditions, for a troupe of dancing girls. It’s said Nezzori takes them all over the realm and if you’re any good you can make more money in one night than you’ve ever dreamed.”

“Dancing girls,” Loki repeated, flat.

If he didn’t know any better he’d think it looked like not only was some unknown force trying to help him, but it was one with a twisted sense of humor.

The girl he was talking to gave him another onceover. She was a dark elf, and it looked as if she’d gone to extra lengths to appear pretty. Her tone turned disparaging. “So, you going to try for a spot too? It looks like he’s picky.”

“I’m not worried,” Loki told her, and instead of going to the back of the line headed straight for the entrance to the tent.

It seemed absurd, but if this group was really so well-travelled it could be the opportunity he needed. Not only would it provide him with transportation while he searched for a way between worlds, it would keep him relatively protected and provisioned until he did.

And certainly, no one would think to look for him _here_.

As he got within a few feet of the men guarding the tent, the flap suddenly swung open and a man strutted out. He had a swarthy face and rings on every finger, and the belly of a man who made a lot of money and liked spending it.

 “Disgraceful,” the man spat, irritated. “This is why I don’t like going to these backwater holes to recruit!”

He waved a hand in front of the face of one of his guards, directing the rant at him.

“Once in a while you find a diamond in the rough – most of the time all you get is shepherdesses and chambermaids with too many freckles who can’t even _sway_ a little!”

“Nezzori?” Loki guessed easily out loud. The man’s eyes snapped up automatically at being addressed, gaze narrowing. Loki stepped forward. “Take me. _I_ can dance.”

“Oh, really?” was the reply, unimpressed. Nezzori ignored the loud complaints from the women who’d been waiting in line. He swept a look over Loki’s cloak-concealed body.

“What are you hiding under there?” he asked, unsympathetic. “Because if it’s hips ruined by childbearing or scars left by your last husband, then you’re no good to me.”

“Oh no.” A smile crept onto Loki’s face. “That isn’t it at all.”

Smoothly he unfastened the cloak and let it fall to the ground around his feet. There was a loud gasp from all around as the moonlight glinted off what was revealed.

Nezzori’s face paled in surprise, but his eyes were round and calculating as he took in Loki’s skin and figure.

The man jerked his head to one side. “Congratulations,” he determined. “You’re in.”

_“What?”_ the closest girl in line cried mutinously. “Just like _that?_ You didn’t even make her dance for you!”

“I don’t need her to,” Nezzori retorted, distractedly. He snapped his fingers in Loki’s direction, nodding, expression positively mercenary. “Men will come for miles around to get a glimpse at something so exotic. I don’t care if you have two left feet.”

“I don’t,” Loki promised.

“Even better.” Nezzori clapped his hands and servants came running from inside the tent, huffing.

“We can have you sign a contract tonight, if you’re willing.” Absently, he asked, “What’s your name?”

Loki swallowed, his throat dry, the night air hot against his frozen Jotun body.

He thought of the Asgard that had been taken from him. He remembered the sins he’d committed that were ultimately why he was here.

“Throkk,” he said.

*

Darcy sometimes not being able to find her boyfriend when she wanted to talk to him wasn’t exactly an irregular thing.

Loki had his ‘moods’. Or, more neutrally, there were times when he wanted to be alone so he could work on a project, which was just as often related to magic as it was some prank involving complex machinations.

It was even harder on Asgard. On Earth, even at a SHIELD facility or if one included all of Puente Antiguo, there were only so many places he could go; Asgard’s palace was a heck of a lot bigger. And full of hidden passages and concealed rooms Darcy had no chance of finding on her own, while Loki had thousands of years’ experience sneaking about.

Not being able to find Loki should have warranted a dismissive sigh, maybe a fit of annoyance.

But considering everything that had been going on, Darcy couldn’t help reacting to it much differently than that.

It was all that talk about danger, and some of the more serious conversations they’d had…when there was no sign of Loki in his room, or any of the other places she was used to being able to find him, Darcy began to worry.

It didn’t make sense that he’d be trying to hide himself _now_. Especially from her.

And she couldn’t shake a feeling that something was wrong that settled deep in her gut.

So when she went into Frigga’s chamber to see the queen, the thought foremost in her mind was that Loki’s mother might have some better idea of where he was.

Darcy stood halfway to the door, hovering. Frigga was facing the opposite direction seated before a loom, methodically weaving a thread through with even-handed skill. She didn’t pause or look up when Darcy came in, continuing her project silently, but Darcy was completely sure the other woman knew she was there. Frigga never struck her as a person who could be _surprised_ easily.

Darcy cleared her throat. “Um, I was told that you wanted to talk to me, your highness?”

Frigga stopped her weaving, hands lowering to her lap. “I’ve told you before you need not speak so formally with me, child,” she rebuked Darcy gently, but the words were said only in passing, her attention not really with them.

She moved in her seat, upper body turning so her face was in profile. At first she didn’t look up.

“I wanted to ask if you had any knowledge of where Loki may be.”

Darcy’s heart sank. “That’s what I was hoping _you_ would know,” she told the queen.

Frigga gave a quiet inhale. “I see.”

She didn’t look at Darcy but even from where she was the younger woman could make out the worry in her eyes.

“This is bad, isn’t it?” Darcy stated. Her voice wavered with anxiety. She took a step forward. “Something could have happened to him, or maybe-”

“Just because he hasn’t been seen for the better part of this day doesn’t mean we must worry for his well-being.” Frigga was trying to reassure her, but her emotions were mixed, the smile offered strained as she looked to her. “We both know Loki has been...unhappy, of late. With all that is happening here he may simply have decided to remove himself.”

“So, you think he’s like, hiding out somewhere? That he’s squirreled himself away in a place nobody knows about, and once his head is clear…”

Frigga’s gaze drifted away again. “I meant more along the lines that he may no longer be on Asgard.”

“What? No; he wouldn’t,” Darcy protested. “He wouldn’t just run _away_ like that. Not without at least telling us something.”

Though she couldn’t help considering it. Loki had been upset; he had fought with her and said things about how he didn’t want to be in a relationship. And it would be a hell of a lot easier for him if he didn’t have to deal with the Nanna situation at all, if he just cut and run…

But, no. He wouldn’t do that to his family – he wouldn’t leave them holding the bag. And his fight with her, well that had just been total bullshit. It wasn’t like anything he’d said there was true, right?

“He wouldn’t do that,” Darcy repeated with more conviction. “He wouldn’t leave us wondering.” She drew a breath. “He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t even leave a note-”

Frigga rose gracefully to her feet. “In my son’s youth it was very common for him to wander. To leave our realm without giving any warning, without leaving any clue as to where he had gone,” she informed Darcy, voice stately and calm. “He has always been a person who appreciates his freedom.”

Darcy stared at her with wide, wounded eyes, feeling like she’d been betrayed somehow.

She could tell by Frigga’s wrought face she didn’t want to believe it either. To think that after everything he’d been through Loki would fall back on bad habits and run away from his loved ones. But because of his history, his mother had to consider the possibility: had to acknowledge that it was more than likely.

“If he didn’t run, he could be in trouble,” Darcy insisted, hesitant.

“I know.” Frigga stepped closer and reached out, briefly caressing her forehead. “And I don’t want to think that of him, either.” She gave a sad smile. “Though it pulls at my heart, I would rather think Loki is safe and chooses not to face us, than he does not appear because something has happened to him.”

Darcy couldn’t really hold that against her. Still, she knew she wouldn’t be getting any help from here.

“If it’s okay with you, I think I’ll go now,” she murmured.

“Of course,” Frigga replied, passive. She went back and sat at her loom. “May you have a good day, Darcy.”

Darcy wandered off, gears in her head turning hard as she tried to think what to do next. She wasn’t going to bug Thor and Jane, not right away: the poor guys deserved their ‘alone time’ to finally be happy. But she couldn’t think who else might be able to help her. Who might know where Loki was, or would be willing to help her figure how to go about looking for him if he was missing?

She was still convinced there were signs of – well, if not ‘foul play’ exactly, then something definitely suspicious.

Loki wasn’t the person he’d been a few years ago. Even if he was tempted, he wouldn’t abandon his family to make things easier for himself.

He wouldn’t just _run_. Darcy was sure of it.

Well. Almost sure. As close to ‘sure’ as with Loki any person could possibly be.

Somehow her feet found their way to the part of the palace where Volstagg and Siún had their quarters. The man of the house wasn’t in, but of course the lady was.

Siún was lying back on a couch surrounded by cushions, her feet propped up on a divan. Her breathing had grown slightly labored from the sheer weight of the child she was carrying, but she looked to be in good spirits anyway.

She was definitely one of those people that “pregnant” managed to be a somewhat good look for. Her auburn hair framed her face in shining almost-straight lines, her face having rounded out rosy and smiling.

She seemed genuinely happy to see Darcy. It was probably boring, sitting around by herself all day.

“Where’s daddy-o?” Darcy asked as she made herself comfortable on a chair.

“I honestly am not sure.” Siún laughed lightly. “I believe some of his friends grew tired of how he was ignoring them and dragged him out for some fresh air.”

“Figures. Guys can get so jealous sometimes.” Darcy trailed off, thinking.

Siún considered her face. “Something’s bothering you, isn’t it?” she asked after a moment, gingerly. “I can tell.”

Darcy shook her head, bit her lip, and then blurted out, “It’s Loki. He’s…it’s like he’s just disappeared.”

Siún frowned. “Nobody has seen him?”

“No! I’m trying not to freak out.” Darcy sighed. “Because, you know, he’s _Loki_. Maybe he just wanted some space.” She looked up and met the other woman’s eyes. “But I don’t think that’s what happened. I just have a really bad feeling about all of this.”

“He is second prince of the realm,” Siún said, concerned. “Surely you can’t be the only one worried.”

“The problem is he’s done this before. Way back, before you met us, before he even met me…the ‘falling out’ he and his brother had? Let’s just say it got majorly ugly.” Darcy sighed again, wearier. “And Loki ran away from home rather than dealing with his problems. And so now everyone’s afraid that’s what he did again.”

And it wasn’t like the possibility didn’t make sense.

“He and I did have a pretty major fight yesterday. I think his brother’s engagement is making him wig out a little bit. Like part of him is starting to feel boxed in.” Darcy shook her head. “And that’s on top of a lot of other family drama…the point is, I can’t blame anybody for thinking he headed for the hills.”

She opened her eyes again, stubborn. “But I _don’t_ think that. I can’t really explain it.” Her hand pressed to her chest. “I just know in my heart that something’s not right. That Loki isn’t here because he’s gotten himself into some kind of trouble.”

She didn’t bother explaining to Siún all the crap about Nanna. There was no need to drag her into all that. But it was definitely the thing that was scaring Darcy the most.

“He is closer to you than probably anyone,” Siún reminded her. “If you think you should be worried, Darcy, I would believe you. You should trust your instincts.”

Darcy looked back over her shoulder.

“You’re right,” she decided after a minute. “Screw it. I don’t care if it makes everyone think I’m nuts. We need to start looking for him. I’m gonna go get Thor, and-”

As she spoke she started to dramatically rise to her feet.

But she stopped talking abruptly as Siún’s hand suddenly lashed out and grabbed her arm, startling her.

The woman’s fingers dug in with a grip of surprising strength.

“Siún, what’s wrong?”

Darcy’s eyes went back to her face to find Siún’s expression contorted with pain and apprehension. _Oh crap,_ a tiny voice went in the back of her head, alarms going off, and looking down she saw Siún’s other hand gripping the front of her belly, a clear fluid soaking through her skirts.

Health class and a lot of pop culture had informed Darcy exactly what that meant.

“Oh boy,” she said out loud.

“Darcy,” Siún whimpered in a feeble voice. She breathed in and out noisily. “The baby.”

Of course she was going into labor _right now_. Darcy held onto her arms to help support her and tried not to panic.

“Okay. It’s gonna be okay. You just…stay with me, and _focus_. Keep breathing. I’ll get help.”

Siún sounded like she was having difficulty talking. “You need to get Volstagg,” she insisted, agonized.

“Right. Just sit down. I’ll be right back, I swear.”

Darcy ran to the door and stuck her head out, shouting, “Somebody! Hey! We need some help in here, like, now!”

When no one appeared instantly, Darcy shouted again louder, as behind her in the room Siún began to scream.

*

Mortals on Earth, Loki discovered, had such little appreciation for the vastness of culture and history. Each generation liked to think the era to which they belonged was the furthest to which the boundaries had ever been pushed.

Modern-day Americans, for example, believed they invented the concept of women dancing sensually for male entertainment.

They couldn’t be more wrong.

The idea of women pleasing and captivating men with the sight of their beauty, their charm and grace and yes, even the movement of their bodies, was nothing even remotely new. Nearly every civilization across the Nine Realms had something resembling this tradition.

In more refined, hierarchal worlds, the art was kept constrained to the likes of courtesans and harem girls, dancing for their masters and guests behind perfumed curtains and closed doors.

In sprawling and anarchic worlds such as Svartalfheim the show was available for the public, or at least any man with the coin to buy his way into a club where it was housed. Troupes of girls such as “Nezzori’s Dancing Lovelies” made a living being brought from one end of the land to another, offering the feast to a different crowd of eyes sometimes every night.

In a realm where a woman’s only hope for success was still marrying upward in society, and it was not uncommon for a peasant to grow old and die scrubbing floors and tilling fields to put money in the pockets of a father or older brother or brother-in-law that kept her, life as a dancing girl was a good way out, if she had the talent.

And one thing could be said for Nezzori, he had discerning tastes. All his girls, to one degree or another, had talent.

At night they went out there, to the ecstatic cries of eager and captivated men, who bought drinks and slipped coins into the hands of waiting servants, to bring them back to the girls in order to convey their favor.

The acts were all different. There was no shortage of props. Some girls danced with scarves, with fans, with canes and even swords. ‘Throkk’ didn’t dance with any of these – she had a unique trick.

A little something Loki had picked up from the good people of Midgard, the likes of which the rest of the Nine Realms had never seen.

So every time he took the stage it was the same. At first he paced the floor, spinning and swaying, moving towards the center in an ever-decreasing circle, a spiral that closed in on itself. And then when it seemed he could go no further, with no space left, from his toes a breath of frost leaked out with every step. A tendril formed, creeping upward, and he shaped it – until his body rested against a long pole made of solid ice in the middle of stage.

He leaned against the pole, hooked limbs around it, swung himself about; dancing with the fixed silver pole as his audience cheered.

Loki had always been a good dancer. It really wasn’t that different from his style of fighting: being all about movement of the body, flipping and spinning and careful placement of the feet. He followed the rhythm of the music and stopped thinking and feeling, giving over to muscle and reflex, becoming lost deep within as he chased the beat.

Every night when Loki danced he couldn’t see their eyes on him, couldn’t hear their voices as they hungered over him like drooling dogs. He never thought about what they thought they saw when they looked at him, what he had all but become. He never thought about his loneliness or his longing or his regrets or his anger. He never focused on how long and far he’d travelled, how weary and desperate he was to go home. He felt none of the stabbing pieces of the jagged edges of his psyche.

The flutes and the strings started, the drums began to pound, he stepped out onto the stage, and everything else went away.

It was only after, he’d feel the emptiness that was beginning to gnaw at him, how tired he was becoming. But it would pay off in the end, he reminded himself. He had seen more of Svartalfheim in the past weeks than he ever would have travelling alone, a different town every few days, a different track of land driven across for him to search.

He hadn’t sensed any portals in the making yet, but he would. It was but a matter of time.

In the meanwhile, today was a different day. The wagons had pulled into town shortly before noon, parking outside the large tavern on the outskirts that would be their new base of operations for the next three days.

Some of the girls went out in groups to look around, arms linked together as they chatted of hopes for shopping and trinkets. Loki, who had made a point to not befriend a one of them, remained behind.

Nezzori had already made himself at home in the tavern, heels propped on the table as he worked his way through a plate of meat and bread and picked his teeth when he finished.

“Here you go, Throkk.” He sorted through a pile of coins before him with his fat fist and tossed Loki the small pouch he put them in when he was finished. “Your cut for the up-front.”

The gifted Jotun rarity that was Throkk had quickly become Nezzori’s headline act – more people came to see her than any other girl, until Nezzori found it necessary to give her a small part of the payments they earned from clubs for bringing their show to them.

Silently Loki took the pouch and pocketed it. He cared nothing for the money, but Nezzori had no idea who he was or what he really wanted, and he preferred to keep it that way.

Nezzori was a brutish, greedy man who was too conceited to be a moneylender and too impatient to be a merchant. His pointed teeth and ears and black stubby nails betrayed he was part of goblin blood, maybe even as much as half.

Still, he wasn’t completely stupid, and he wasn’t cruel. He didn’t beat his girls or molest them or try to keep them enslaved, so he could be considered decent. Certainly he could’ve been worse.

But he wasn’t a friend, or even an ally, and Loki had no intention of trusting him with his secrets.

The troupe leader gestured to the greasy remnants on his plate. “Would you like anything?”

“No, thank you,” Loki replied, voice flat. “I’m not hungry.”

“Pre-show jitters,” Nezzori said sardonically, then lifted his head more upright as something caught his attention. “Ah, here we are – come here, I need to introduce you,” he called to someone, gesturing to indicate they should come closer.

Loki suppressed a small sigh as he felt the footsteps of two men drawing up close at his back.

“This here is the tavern’s keeper, our generous host for the night. Thought you might like to meet my golden girl up close.” Nezzori grinned.

Loki barely made eye contact as he faced the general direction of the older man. He looked like a tavern’s proprietor should: worn and hardened, like an old piece of leather, with a scar running through his lip and below one eye.

“She really _is_ a Jotun,” he remarked in astonishment, looking Loki over. “I’ve seen the posters, but I figured it was probably just paint.”

Wearing a long dressing-gown that tied around the waist, Loki still fought the urge to flinch. “Nezzori believes in truth in advertising,” was his tart reply.

The man in question clucked his tongue, more amused than insulted. “Indeed,” he chortled. “And, who have you got here?” he questioned, indicating the tavern keeper’s companion.

“This here is my head of security. Keeps the lowest of the lowlifes out, stops the fights before they get started, and he’ll be personally responsible for overseeing your girls’ safety so long as you’re here.”

“Good.” Nezzori frowned. “Been a few places in the past not near so troubled about my girls’ well-being. Had a few try and sneak behind the curtain. It happens here, believe me, I won’t be coming back.”

“It won’t,” the keeper swore. “This one here, he’s a good hired sword. Best I ever seen in years.”

“I do my best,” the younger man said, modest but assured. “I promise you, no lout will come anywhere near the women so long as I’m on duty.”

Loki froze at the sound of that short speech. Disbelieving, his eyes moved as if of their own accord to look at the man that stood but a few feet to his left.

The build wasn’t quite right for what he would’ve been expecting, and the hair was an eerie shade of white. But that _face_. That _voice_.

He let his imagination fill in the changes that would’ve happened over the past few centuries.

A memory came to him, of a summer’s day in the courtyard, vision half-dazzled by the sun as their group hid from the heat beneath the shade of an apple tree, leaves casting a dappled pattern over their young bodies. The face of a youth laughing at him good-naturedly, with a strong chin and broad nose, cheeks that had not yet lost their childhood roundness, pale blue eyes bright and sparkling.

Those exact same eyes gazed at him with polite attention from the face of the paid swordsman clad in poorly-made chainmail and secondhand leathers.

“…Balder?” Loki softly breathed out.


	5. East of the Sun and West of the Moon

The element of surprise was a thing that in his years Loki had long mastered as a weapon.

He held it over his enemies, used it to his advantage both on the battlefield and off. At any moment the right word or gesture to catch someone else off-guard could turn an entire situation to his favor.

And it was a tactic he never allowed to be employed against him. With as many secrets as he collected, with as proficient as he was at reading the minds and moods of others, very rarely could Loki himself be surprised. And when he was, with the practice of concealing his emotions, no trace ever showed on his face.

Or at least that was usually the case.

But he was too far gone in his state of shock to have enough presence to even think about hiding it, feeling as though the world had dropped from under his feet.

Balder was dead. Had been dead for millennia. The mortals had told stories about it. There had been _odes_.

And yet he was standing right in front of Loki, looking back at him, very much alive.

So perhaps Loki could be forgiven if he was temporarily reduced to being able to do nothing but stare, overwhelmed in his total sense of shock.

He knew it had been prophesied that Balder might return someday, that it was hinted his spirit was still with them, but Loki had interpreted that as some form of vague mysticism; at best a reference to reincarnation. He had never thought it might be taken so _literally_.

Though perhaps he of all people should’ve realized: he too, had neglected to be dead when he was supposed to be, returning when not expected to the astonishment of many.

What an odd thing for the two of them to turn out to have in common.

“You know my name?” Balder demanded, pulling Loki back to fuller awareness. He stared at Loki also, with less trepidation than simple astonishment, and confusion. “You know who I am? How is it, that you know me?”

He moved closer, and there was something beseeching in his wide-eyed glance.

Loki’s eyes darted in the direction of Nezzori and the barkeep, wary. But they were in luck: the two men had moved aside to the table and become embroiled in some other conversation, likely about money. They looked not Loki and Balder’s way, seemed unaware the two were speaking, in fact seemed to have momentarily forgotten they were even there.

Quickly Loki spun back to face Balder. He knew not what was going on – his head was still awhirl. But there was no time to stop and analyze. He had to make his move if he wanted to keep the upper hand.

If this was truly Balder – and somehow, Loki knew in his heart that it was – it would be a terrible mistake to let him slip through his fingers.

“If you give me the chance I will do my best to explain everything,” he said quietly, intent. “But we must go someplace more private.” Nezzori would sell about anything to make himself coin, even a secret, and the walls could very well have ears. “Will you trust me?”

Balder looked taken aback, but he didn’t consider long before nodding his assent. “Lead the way.” He gestured for Loki to go first, and he obediently followed.

Loki kept his steps silent, Balder in his heavy leather armor and loose-fitting chainmail, not so much. But when Loki stole a look back no one was watching them, their flight evidently unnoticed.

The dressing room had already been set up first right after they arrived – all the other girls were gone, and anyway ‘Throkk’ was allowed her own veiled-off corner. Loki all but shoved Balder through in his hurry to get them inside, drawing the curtains shut and throwing up an arm as he cast a shield to mask their voices.

Balder held his hands awkwardly, neck craning as he shifted on his feet, blushing slightly as he took in the gauzy surroundings and implements of a lady’s toilette.

And for a moment Loki had no voice, for it was all he could do to just _stare_ at him. Head to toe he raked the other man, taking him in with a keen and observant eye.

Balder had not grown up to be the man all of Asgard had imagined. Indeed, he looked very little like the privileged young nobleman Loki had known last.

Inside of his shining well-made raiment, he stood there dressed in the common grubbiness of a hired sword. His clothes were either several years old or had been purchased second-hand; almost nothing fit entirely properly, save his leather jerkin, which out of necessity he’d no doubt sprung to have tailor-made. He had a fine dwarven-made broadsword concealed in a cracked leather scabbard. His boots were caked with mud, his gloves were stained and his mail was unpolished.

This was the prized beauty of Asgard, making a living as a man paid to escort caravans and break up bar-fights? His good looks were hidden under a thin layer of grime and his hair was lank from being unwashed. “Uncouth” did not even begin to describe it. The gentry who loved and mourned Balder would weep to see him now, or else turn their noses up in disgust and horror.

Even Loki, who had professed a possible hatred, at best an outright dislike, felt a sorrow in his chest at seeing Balder brought so low. He was not as Thor had been once, spoiled and prideful. Even the most vindictive part of Loki knew he deserved much better than this.

But it wasn’t just Balder’s change in station that threw him so off. Though Balder was still practically a boy at the time of his death, he’d been old enough one could picture easily the man he would become one day. Something had gone awry in the intervening centuries: Balder was _not_ that man now.

Oh, he stood tall and broad-shouldered, sure enough, and one could see instantly he was an experienced fighter. But he was not a _warrior_. He was unassuming where he should have been valiant, and amongst the company of men raised on Asgard he would’ve been mediocre. He had the distinct body type of guardsmen and hirelings: muscles in his arms broad and developed, but less so in other places, extra pounds around his waistline that came from living an unchallenging, mostly sedentary life.

And, ultimately, there was an air about him that just seemed…wrong. As though something was missing.

Like Thor, like many of Asgard’s finest, in his memory Balder had constantly seemed to all but shine, possessing an aura so golden and resplendent with Asgardian power that it gave him a glow of sorts.

This Balder seemed…dull. There was nothing spectacular about him, as if that part had been stolen away, leaving behind a body that was empty and uncertain. His hair was not the sturdy chestnut brown of his father’s that Loki remembered: it had turned completely white. Not with premature aging, but with an otherworldly paleness that was distinctly supernatural.

It was the mark, Loki was certain, of someone who’d been touched by magic.

Was that how Balder had been restored, then? If so, by whom – and at what cost?

_Balder,_ Loki thought with an incredulity akin to despair, _what has been done to you?_

“You said that you knew me,” Balder prompted him. “You called me by my name, though no one spoke it first and I’m certain I never seen you before. So, tell me: do you know me?”

“Oh, yes,” Loki breathed. He took an involuntary step closer, one hand rising as if to brush the hair out of Balder’s eyes for a better look at what was underneath. He stared searchingly. “Though it has aged, I would know this face anywhere. It has been burned into my memory.”

His throat closed and for a moment he caught the acrid taste of centuries-old guilt. His arm dropped, shying back.

“You are Balder, of Asgard,” he finished, voice more even with how he detached his emotions. “Of this there can be no doubt.”

Balder gazed at him. “And what do you _know_ of Balder of Asgard?” he asked, there an almost hungry edge to the question.

It instantly caused Loki’s wariness and unease to rise. “What do _you?_ ” he returned, questioning.

Balder’s expression took on an air that was guilty. Shamed. “I know that’s who I am,” he admitted; “Or at least, who I am supposed to be.”

He looked down, eyes weighed with frustrated sadness.

Loki balked with a realization of horror. “You don’t _remember_.” Despite being a living man, this Balder seemed more like a ghost: a sad, pathetic shade bearing just enough of the traits of who he’d been to provoke resemblance.

And on Balder’s behalf Loki found himself growing angry. Who had _done_ such a thing, raising him only in part like this? Who had been so careless – or worse, had it been purposeful? If so, who had _dared_?

Balder’s eyes darted back up to his. “Not entirely. I have some memories. I remember Asgard. I remember my life…before.” He sank down into a chair with a sigh, hands reflexively gripping his scabbard. “But everything from that time is so _hazy_. Nothing is clear in my mind.”

His brow furrowed as he thought, as he tried to explain.

“I remember places, names, but not details. There are so many gaps. It all feels like a dream – or like the memories are from someone else. They don’t feel like _mine_. It’s more as if they were stories told to me, about somebody else’s life.”

Loki carefully lowered into a crouch, wrists folded over his thighs, so he could look up and study Balder’s face.

“You died,” he stated, senselessly, still impeded by that one irrefutable truth. “I know that you did. It was no trick. I-” His voice cut out, swallowed up by how potentially he could finish that sentence. _I smelled your blood. I watched your body fall._

“You were dead,” he repeated in lieu, softly.

Balder gave a stiff nod, the gesture strangely detached.

“I know. I don’t remember that day very well. And I don’t remember…being dead,” he put reluctantly. “Anything from that.” Loki was morbidly relieved: he’d fear for Balder’s sanity if he’d retained knowledge of being in Valhalla – or anywhere else, for that matter. “But somehow that I know with utmost certainty. That I died. That for some time I was a dead man.”

“But what of after?” Loki pressed. “Of this, and now? How were you brought back?”

Balder inhaled quietly. “I think it was the Norns,” he said. “The first thing I remember clearly is awaking in their care. I know not exactly how they fished my soul out of the abyss and gave me life once more. I didn’t care to ask.” He shook his head. “They didn’t seem to have much purpose in it, either. I would almost venture they did it only because they could.”

“The Sisterhood has ways that can seem strange indeed at times – I wouldn’t put it past them.” Still Loki was shaken. “But all this time they’ve known you were alive, and sent not one word back to Vanaheim or Asgard?”

“No. At first I was almost afraid at the thought of going home – for try as I might, it didn’t feel like ‘home’ to me. Everything in my head seemed so confused and strange. The Norns assured me that after what I’d been through it was not at all odd I’d come back…differently. They told me that time, or something I experienced, might cause the fog to be lifted and restore me to myself.”

“But that never happened,” Loki gathered, “did it.”

“No.” Dejectedly Balder shook his head. “I waited but nothing ever changed. Finally I decided that memories or no, I should return to my family and my duty. But the Norns’ queen wouldn’t let me. She tried to dissuade me, to convince me I should relax and wait further until I felt more sure.”

“How very predictable of Karnilla,” Loki said disapprovingly, stilted. “And let me guess: she wanted you to carry out that ‘waiting’ in the comfort of her arms?”

“She did.” Balder was a mixture of embarrassed and bitter. “But I would not submit to her. I had no desire to spend forever as her pet. When eventually I realized she would never cooperate and help me, I managed to escape.” He raised a hand. “I found myself in Svartalfheim and here I’ve been ever since.”

Loki chose not to fixate on that Karnilla may very well have _only_ brought Balder back so she could have him as a consort – that she had made a plaything of heaven and earth so she could have the noble warrior all to herself, even in his diminished state.

“But why stay here?” he asked instead. “Why not return to Asgard?”

Balder gave a helpless shrug. In his pale blue eyes Loki could see how earnest he was, how very _lost_ he felt. “I had not the means, and I didn’t know the way. And,” he confessed, “I didn’t entirely see what good it would do. The Norns told me of how much I was mourned over, how worshipped I had been. I felt going back when I’m this way, I would only be a disappointment.”

_He would be_ , Loki thought to himself with grim honesty. This frank and confused warrior was not for whom the hallowed halls of Asgard had rung with fallen tears.

But that wasn’t his fault. And it didn’t matter: he was still Balder. He belonged on Asgard, with his friends, with his people. Maybe the All-Father knew something to be done that would return whatever had been taken from him.

In any case Loki knew he had to convince Balder to stay with him, to follow him so he could get them both back to Asgard once he figured out the way.

And the fact that a living Balder would instantly derail the tension and danger that threatened Loki’s own existence there - was only a part of his reasoning, truly. It was the right thing to put Balder back where he was meant to be.

“But now I’ve told you my tale,” Balder spoke up, interrupting his thoughts, “and you have yet to tell me yours. You promised me an answer. So please now, explain. How is it that you already knew who I was?”

Loki met his eyes for a moment and swallowed. He intentionally kept his face guarded as he rose back to his feet.

“What I’m about to tell you will seem…fantastic,” he began. “And it _must_ be kept a secret between us. But for all that, it is no less true, and hopefully within my power to convince you.” He cleared his throat. “I recognize you, because I was there the day you died. I am your cousin. Loki.”

Confusion washed freely over Balder’s face as he stared at him. “Forgive me,” he said, flat, “but when I said my memories of the past weren’t so clear, I did _not_ mean-”

“You think I mock your intellect?” Loki almost laughed. “No, no. You misunderstand. I was already practicing magic when you were still with us on Asgard.” With one hand he gestured, indicating his body. “My talents have much improved over the centuries that have passed. And there are times when it benefits me to travel in another form, so that I may not be recognized.”

“You are a shapeshifter,” Balder understood, astonished. “But why of all things a Jotun? And a woman?”

Loki drew his mouth into a tight line. “It is at this point an incredibly long and complicated tale, Balder. One I don’t think I could make you understand, in your present state.”

A half-truth. It made Loki weary to even think of retelling the whole story, but also there were parts of it he simply did not wish his cousin to know. Particularly how Balder’s own mother had gone so mad with grief she’d all but enacted a coup.

“But if you doubt my honesty by all means, you have the right to test me,” Loki continued. “Ask me anything you think I should know.”

“You already know my memories are less than whole,” Balder pointed out, doubtful. “No secrets come to mind that only my cousins and I should be privy to.”

But as he stood up, back straightening, there was a deeply contemplative look on his face.

“I do remember Loki, a bit. I remember dark hair and a smirking face. He was clever, and quick, and seemed always to be in trouble. And he could be incredibly mean-spirited at times when his temper was roused.  But he was giving to his friends and longed to be a good servant to Asgard.”

Blue eyes focused on Loki once more.

“It seems almost too incredible a story to be simply made-up. And I have no real _reason_ to doubt what you say.” He offered a passive smile. “If you are truly my cousin, then I will accept it at that.”

It was really _too_ easy. But the Balder that Loki remembered had been a generous and trusting soul – evidently his centuries of hardships had not taken that from him. It was an aggravating trait in general but for present circumstances it suited Loki perfectly.

He moved closer, reaching to lay a careful hand on the back of Balder’s gloved forearm.

“I am at present stranded here, unable to use the Bifrost. But the whole reason I’m with this group is so I can search for a passage of my own.” He stated intensely, “You come with me, and I’ll be able to get us both home.”

“But how can I travel with you?” Balder questioned. “Wouldn’t your employer notice if I was following you from town to town?”

Loki shook his head. “Leave that to me,” he promised. “I’ll get Nezzori to hire you on. That way it won’t raise any suspicion.”

He went to the curtains and pulled one aside, checking the coast was clear. Seeing it was he swiftly gestured to Balder to go.

“Come back after the show. I’ll have things in order by then. And remember,” he pressed a finger across his lips, “not a word of this, to anyone. No one can know who or what I really am.”

“You have my word,” Balder swore. He bowed his head and took his leave.

It was a good thing that by then Loki had his routine firmly down in his muscle memory. If he had had to _think_ while on stage, it might not have been possible. He could scarcely believe all that’d happened.

Balder was alive. Everything that had come because of his death and after, and Balder _lived_. He was alive and of all the places in the Nine Realms he could’ve been, he and Loki had crossed paths. Loki had seen and experienced much in his time, but this was pushing the boundaries.

It was hard not to describe it using the word ‘miracle’.

After he left the stage Loki didn’t even bother to change out of his costume before going to find Nezzori. The man was squeezed in at a table in a hidden room near the back of the tavern, giving him enough sight and sound he could tell in general how the audience was reacting.

Evidently the night was going well. Nezzori seemed pleased. Loki would use that to his advantage.

He started the conversation slow, sweetly reminding Nezzori of how much success Throkk had, specifically, brought to him. How it was so good of him, so reasonable, in how he had so far been extra accommodating of her needs.

Nezzori was no fool. He had to know Loki was going to ask for something. But he waited patiently, smiling indulgently all the while, putting in the occasional note of agreement.

Finally Loki brought up the ‘faint concerns’ he had been having about personal safety. Throkk was very popular, and some of the less savory places they’d been had boasted men that tried to follow or lay hands on her. Because of both her profession and her race, people didn’t always think to treat her respectfully.

(Loki could have very easily eviscerated anyone who came too close, but of course he didn’t let the man know that.)

“So,” Nezzori said, frowning faintly, “what is it you would like me to do?”

“I want a personal guard,” Loki told him. “Just one, a man to stay at my side late at night and stand outside my dressing room as an extra precaution. You know you can afford it. And after everything I’ve done for you, I think you can agree that I’m worth it.”

Nezzori grunted and scratched at his cheek, scowling, but he didn’t voice disagreement with either of these facts.

“I’ve even already found someone for the job,” Loki continued. “That man the tavern’s owner introduced us to today, his head of security. I like the look of him. He seems strong and reliable. And you wouldn’t have a hard time hiring him away: he wants to travel. You wouldn’t have to pay him much more than he already makes.”

Nezzori chortled. “Oho, so is that how it is?” He leaned back on his chair. “You surprise me, Throkk. All this time I figured you must be as coldblooded as they say of your kind. But one look at that pudgy, doe-eyed stout and you’ve gone sweet on him.”

Loki frowned deeply. “That isn’t it at all.” He felt obligated to add, “And he isn’t ‘pudgy’.”

“I’d say he’s carrying a bit of a belly,” was Nezzori’s sage retort. He patted his own not insubstantial stomach. “I think I’d be in a position to know. But, that’s beside the point. If he’s your type-”

“He’s _not_ ,” Loki stressed, aggravated. “I swear he’s not. I just want you to give him the job, that’s all.”

“I’m sure,” Nezzori said, clearly not believing a word of it. “If it’ll keep my main event happy and doesn’t cost me too much, I see no reason to object. But you know how I feel about my girls having relationships with my other employees. Keep it quiet, and you’re fine. I actually _see_ anything, and you’re both out.”

“Believe me,” Loki replied, somewhat terse, “you won’t see a thing.”

But he’d gotten what he wanted, so as annoying as the misinterpretation was, he wasn’t going to argue.

Balder came back after the show, as promised. And if he seemed surprised Loki handled everything so easily, he showed no apprehension about going along with what had been planned.

When they left town and packed up again, heading to their next engagement, Balder came with them. From that day on he was part of the arrangement. He travelled in the same cart as Throkk and her things, helped her pack and unpack and generally responded dutifully in tending to her every need.

He was equal parts manservant and bodyguard. Loki found it bewildering, while his twisted inner self enjoyed it: Balder the Bright, the pride and exemplar of Asgard, waiting on him hand and foot. Jumping to answer his every command without hesitation.

It was so very wrong, and Loki knew that was why his dark half found it pleasing – Balder should be no one’s servant, least of all that of Asgard’s most disappointing outcast. Least of all that of his _murdere_ r. The man should have more self-respect.

But there was much about this version of Balder that was not as it should be.

If there had been any lingering doubt, Loki cast it aside with something that happened less than a week into their journey.

There’d been a fight at the bar the troupe was performing at. Balder intervened; the audience stopped watching the girls in favor of potentially bloodier spectacle, and Loki had stopped wasting his time with the pole, his position on the stage giving him an especially good vantage of the fight.

“You were holding back,” Loki noted later, when Balder came into the dressing rooms to check up.

Many of the dancers were sweet on Balder. They crooned at him and teased him, waving their scarves and draping feathers around his neck. Balder would flush and stammer and then decorously ignore them.

Though he left much to be desired in cunning, so far Balder had been perfectly careful about keeping Loki’s secret, only using his real name or addressing him as “cousin” when it was certain they were alone.

Not that there weren’t plenty of opportunities for that. Balder took his alleged duty very seriously and was constantly hanging around him. Loki had a suspicious impression Balder didn’t know what to do with himself without Loki giving commands.

“I would say I gave my fair share,” in the present Balder replied mildly, fingers curled in lazy posture around his belt. “I wasn’t about to let them harm any of the women, or the other patrons for that matter.”

“But it took you too long,” Loki insisted. “I know how strong you are; I’ve taken your measure. You could have ended that one brute with a single blow.”

Balder’s face darkened. “I could have.”

“So why didn’t you?” Loki simply didn’t understand. It had nothing to do with pride or modesty, but practicality and skill. Certainly Balder couldn’t have lingered because he was _bored_ with the challenge.

Balder gave him a wide-eyed look of earnest disbelief.

“I only wanted to stop him,” he said. “I didn’t want to kill him.”

Loki frowned and waved an absent hand, not understanding him at first. “It’s nice to end the occasional round of combat without bloodshed, if possible. But-”

“ _No_ ,” Balder cut him off, insistent. “You aren’t listening. Cousin, I do not kill. Ever.”

For a beat Loki just stared at him. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Balder,” he demanded, “do you consider yourself a…a _pacifist?_ ”

He said the word almost in a gasp. But supreme as his shock was, it was still better than the reaction it’d have garnered on Asgard. _There_ they said that particular word as if it were profanity.

Balder inclined his head. “I can’t deny the fighter’s spirit I have in me, and I make my living with the sword, but I try to avoid violence whenever possible,” he confirmed. “And I would never take a life. Not under any circumstances.”

Loki gazed up blankly. His voice came out shrill in protest and denial, dumbfounded.

“But, you are Balder the Brave! You are a warrior of Asgard, a noble son of Vanaheim. You fought alongside ‘Mighty’ Thor and shared in his adventures,” he exclaimed. “You were proud of what you were, and honored for it!”

“What you say may be true, but I don’t remember any pride,” Balder stated gently. “I don’t remember any glorious adventures. It was another life. What I know in this one is the thought of being responsible for the death of another living being makes me sick. I can never do it. Not even in self-defense.”

“But that’s-!” Loki started to expound, stammered, and then trailed off.

He managed to compose himself before he stood to meet Balder’s eyes with grave sincerity, his voice softer.

“That’s not an attitude they have, where we’re going. Do you not understand? If you insist on that when you get back to Asgard, they’ll brand you a coward,” he stressed. “You will be openly mocked.”

“Then so be it,” Balder replied with no hesitation, only the solemnity of quiet personal conviction. “They can think whatever they like of me. I’ll know that they’re wrong.”

“But,” Loki started again, floundering – this was wrong, this was all wrong. _Balder_ wasn’t supposed to be an outcast, an object of scorn. He was supposed to be a warrior, the best of them all. He was supposed to be loved, and _enjoy_ that.

Balder didn’t give him the chance to try and get out the words to explain any of that.

“I won’t change my ways or what I know in my heart to be right to find the approval of people I barely remember,” he claimed, almost scoffing. “Your concerns are touching, and I thank you, but voicing them isn’t going to convince me. Please, don’t waste time worrying about me.”

That request had no effect – as Loki watched Balder walk away, he found he was doing a great deal of worrying. Not all of it directly about Balder.

There was an awful numb feeling in his stomach as he tried sorting his way through his thoughts.

There was no point in denying it. Balder was just so _different_ now. Loki had kept dismissing it, likening it akin to a phase, a problem that could be fixed once Balder was home again.

But what if there was no “fixing” it? What if death had changed Balder permanently? What if the youth that’d been in the process of being sculpted had been lost forever, and this was just who Balder was now?

A kindhearted, honest, somewhat simple-minded man, who was stronger than most but was no true Asgardian, no god.

He would never live up to the expectations that’d been set for him. People would slight him, insult him, tell him to his face with the greatest pity how tragic it was he had lost his former glory.

The entire time they’d been journeying Balder had shown no real interest in Asgard. He never asked Loki any questions. Not about his family or members of Loki’s, not about any of his old friends, not about what happened in the years since his death. It was like he didn’t care at all.

It was like he had put his trust in Loki completely, blindly, and thought he didn’t need to know anything else.

Or perhaps he’d simply become an empty vessel, devoid of his own purpose or desires, content to follow orders and live as the extension of another’s will.

When they got back to Asgard, he would be eaten alive.

Loki shivered to think of it, because the truth was he’d become a different person too. Gone was the spiteful boy who hadn’t stopped to think things through in desire to see his cousin hurt.

He had thought by finding Balder and returning him to Asgard alive once more he somehow balanced out the deed from his past, erased his crime, made amends.

But now he couldn’t help but wonder if by dragging Balder back he was in truth doing him more harm than good.

*

Darcy was trying not to feel like she was about to go absolutely crazy.

It’d been _three_ weeks since Loki vanished. Three whole _weeks_ , and edging in on four.

It wasn’t even that she had gone for so long without seeing her boyfriend. It was that nobody seemed to know where he was.

And for some reason she couldn’t anyone to pay attention to that.

At first she had been too preoccupied, what with Siún and Volstagg and the baby and all. The husband had arrived in a frantic rush to sit by his wife’s side, to hold her hand and try his best to comfort her as she whimpered and groaned.

Even though she didn’t _need_ to be there by that point, Darcy felt like she couldn’t leave. No one tried to kick her out, and she wanted to stay to lend her friends support. So she took a place by the opposite side of Siún’s bed, holding her other hand, whispering reassuring words to the woman in labor. She mopped the sweat off her brow and tried not to cringe when the bloody stuff started, and did what she could to distract Siún from the pain.

Though the caesarian obviously sped things up a lot, the whole ordeal took the better part of a day. Darcy hung back feeling superfluous and awkward as the screaming newborn was hustled into a corner to be washed and examined, as two healers tended to the new mother who’d fallen into an unconscious swoon, as Volstagg’s head jerked back and forth as he fretfully tried to watch what was happening to both at once.

But when all was said and done, Siún recovered enough she was able to sit up, one of Volstagg’s arms propping her at the waist, the two of them with heads pressed together as they were handed their son.

The baby was crying and squirming, tiny fists waving in the air, eyes shut against the light. He was red-skinned and chubby and still a bit on the slimy side.

Volstagg and Siún gasped and beamed over him like he was the most beautiful thing ever.

For the next few days Siún was groggy and at the healers’ advice she remained in bed. Volstagg and Darcy both slept in her room and took turns hovering over her in case she needed anything.

The baby was kept in a large white beribboned bassinet that was brought into the bedroom. He slept happily, but could grow pretty loud and fussy when he wanted a feeding.

By the next morning after his birth, his ruddiness had died down to a rosy pink. There were curly stands of ginger hair already springing from his head, his eyes were round and curious, and his cheeks were especially chubby. Darcy was willing to bet he weighed significantly more than a normal newborn on Earth would.

“Does he have a name yet?” she gently asked the happy couple.

Siún and Volstagg exchanged a glance, smiling, before returning their gazes to the being bundled in his mother’s arms.

“Yes,” Siún answered, as Volstagg stroked her hair between his fingers. “His name is Saemund.”

“Saemund Volstaggson,” the father said, reverently, eyes bright with joy and wonder. He laughed as the infant made an insistent sucking sound, head craning towards Siún’s breast. “Ah, see! Already he does me proud.”

When the exhaustion and excitement had worn off, and Darcy left the new parents to learn how to deal with things on their own, the rest of the world she had pushed at bay while her focus was solely on Siún caught up with her. She went right back to worrying.

This long after the fact there could be absolutely no doubt that Loki wasn’t on Asgard. The rest of their friends hadn’t seen him. There still were no clues where he had gone.

And while Darcy was too respectful to keep nagging Frigga – and too intimidated to approach Odin – she was convinced that they needed to be _doing_ something. Someone had to go and look for him.

She tried time and time again bringing the subject up to Thor, but to her supreme frustration, starting to border on disbelief, she kept not being able to speak freely to him or Jane. One way or another, she got thwarted at every turn.

The engagement festivities were in full swing now, and Jane and Thor seemed to always be in the middle of _doing_ something. Darcy would get up first thing in the morning to look for them, only to be told they’d gone to see a play being performed in their honor – and since the show had already started, she couldn’t be let into the theatre. When it was over, the betrothed pair would disappear surrounded by a crowd of courtiers, invited to a private luncheon in one of their rooms. She would go to Jane’s bedroom later but she would never be there: she’d be off for a walk or a boat ride or a sojourn on horseback alone with Thor.

Even at dinner Darcy could never manage to talk to them. There were so many people clamoring for their attention, wanting to give them congratulations or make a toast, that Darcy couldn’t get a word in edgewise. She’d start a sentence and then one loud Asgardian or another would speak over her, and Thor and Jane’s attention would be lost. She could barely even get them to look at her.

It was _insane_. She was aggravated, unsettled, and feeling like she’d fallen into an episode of the Twilight Zone. Had everyone but her forgotten about Loki?

Didn’t Thor worry at all what might’ve happened to his brother? And since when had they become so swept up in the partying they couldn’t pay attention to anything else – especially _Jane_?

It absolutely, emphatically did not make any sense. But she was at a loss for an explanation as to what was going on.

Finally, after days straight of fuming and stalking, Darcy had had enough. And she also had an opening. She found Jane sitting on a terrace, surrounded by a tittering group of handmaidens that were brushing her hair and making appreciative remarks over some of her engagement gifts.

It was the kind of gathering that’d normally make Jane sigh and try not to roll her eyes , fidgeting in her anxiety for a chance to get away. But for some reason at present she was basking in it.

With no preamble Darcy rushed in and went straight up to her. “We need to talk,” she announced.

Jane’s eyes turned to her slowly and she gave a distracted frown. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah, actually, you can. By you and Thor giving me maybe five minutes of your friggin’ time!”

With a look tinged by disapproval Jane waved at the women currently fussing over her to stop. “I don’t really think that’s an appropriate way for a lady-in-waiting to speak,” she noted with an airy laugh of disbelief.

“ _Lady-in-waiting_?” Darcy repeated, indignant. “Okay, I get that maybe you want to practice for being space royalty and all, but I am _so_ not having it with this ‘We are not amused’ shtick. I’m not your _servant_ , Jane, I’m your assistant?” she reminded the other woman condescendingly. “Not to mention your _friend_. Or so I _thought_.”

Jane blinked once, and then she plastered a smile across her face. “Of course, my dear friend. Darcy.” She rose to her feet, chuckling. “I was only teasing you!”

“I should sure hope so,” Darcy retorted. “Not that I find it very funny.” She gave Jane the sideways eye as she looked her up and down. For a moment there she could’ve sworn she heard hesitation in Jane’s voice – like she had forgotten her name. “What’s gotten into you?”

Jane tilted her head, giving her an innocent and confused expression. “Why, whatever do you mean?”

“Okay, _that_. That is exactly the kind of thing that I mean.” Darcy pointed. “Since when do you talk with all the fluttery language and the thees and thous? It’s wigging me out.”

“I’m only trying to emulate the people I’ll be queen over,” Jane said sweetly, like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. “Don’t you think it is more fitting? More proper?”

Darcy stared at her. “I think it sounds like you’re turning into some Shakespearean Valley Girl caricature,” she stated, flat. “Why would you do that, anyway? Thor’s already head over heels crazy about you.”

Jane moved over to play with a bouquet of gilded flowers, an oddly smug look on her face.

“Hmm. He most certainly is, isn’t he.”

Darcy’s alarm bells were going off so hard she was forced to take a moment to clear her head, shaking it, her eyes squeezed shut with a look of dumbfounded incredulity. _What_ in the nine worlds was wrong with Jane?

Before she could come up with something next to say, she heard footsteps behind her, and she opened her eyes to see Thor had appeared.

“My love,” he called, evidently in an extra gushy mood today. “As promised, I have returned to your side.” He reached towards her eagerly.

“Oh, Thor,” Jane said in a breathy, pleased voice. She sashayed – yes, _sashayed_ – over to him, hips working with every step. She leaned into his body as she balanced on the ball one of foot, reaching out to stroke his face with the back of her hand. “I’m so glad you were prompt in coming back to me. You know how I hate not having you close.”

“I know,” Thor agreed. “I too suffer for every moment I cannot see your face.”

Darcy took a step closer, hands limply at her sides, shoulders raised, watching with eyes narrowed, abjectly confused.

There was something _so_ off about this. Thor was looking at Jane way too reverently, even for him – there was something glassy-eyed about his expression, almost unfocused. And Jane’s responding look to Thor was less fond than it was possessive, petting him in a way like she would reward an obedient dog.

“Okay, I think you guys have been spending too much time together. You’re acting like a couple of lovesick zombies.”

Jane turned to give Darcy a displeased, lofty look over her shoulder, while Thor gazed at her blankly.

“If anything, I think we could do with less interruptions,” she replied, slipping in a terse, halfhearted, “No _offense_.” She backed away. “Thor, darling, why don’t you show her to the door like a gentleman?”

“As you wish, Jane.”

“What? Wait, you can’t just – I _need_ to talk to you!”

Thor marched forward and put a hand on her forearm, turning her around. He didn’t _push_ her, but his whole manner was so forceful there was absolutely nothing Darcy could do to resist. Short of digging her heels in and letting him drag her, anyway.

Jane watched them both idly, one finger playing with a stand of her hair. “I’m sure whatever it is, it can wait.”

“It really _can’t_ ,” Darcy squawked, as she was hurried along. “Seriously, you guys, what gives? This isn’t funny!”

But before she knew it Jane was out of sight, Thor having successfully brought her all the way back inside to the hallway.

“Good day to you, Darcy,” he said, emotionless, and then turned like he was going to go back.

“Thor, stop!” Darcy practically screamed. “Wait!” She stared at him, fists clenched and shaking. But at least the loudness of her voice got his attention. He was giving her a puzzled look.

“What is _wrong_ with you?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Thor murmured. He was looking at her like he saw right through her.

Darcy shook her head, throat tight with anxiety. “Whatever is going on with Jane, it’s rubbing off on you too. The two of you have been acting like totally different people.”

Thor frowned. “Do not speak ill of my lady-love. She is the most beautiful, most flawless being in all of Asgard, and is beyond compare.”

The words kind of sounded like Thor, but the way he said them didn’t. It was like Jane was a god and he was worshipping _her_. A robot would have come across as less enslaved.

Entreatingly Darcy reached out and put her hands on his biceps. “Look, Jane is awesome; I’m not going to argue with that. But you’re acting like her puppet. You need to snap out of it, now.”

“I don’t understand you, Darcy,” he insisted, stubbornly. “There is nothing for me to ‘snap out’ of. I am fine.” It wasn’t very convincing, considering he sounded like he was in a trance.

Darcy would have tried to slap him back into awareness - except one time early on in her friendship with Loki had taught her that a human smacking an Asgardian in the face was a way to practically break a hand. Her grip tightened on Thor and she threw her whole body’s weight into it as she attempted shaking him. Of course he didn’t move an inch.

“Please! You have to listen to me,” she exclaimed. “God, I wish Loki wasn’t missing. Maybe he could figure out what the hell was going on.”

“What did you say?” Thor blinked – Darcy felt a flutter of hope as his brow started to wrinkle, concerned. “Loki…is missing?” His voice was like he was slowly waking up from a dream.

“Yes! Loki, your brother, is missing, and he has been for weeks! This is what I’ve been trying to tell you, only you wouldn’t pay attention! Can you hear me now?” When he shook his head distractedly, expression starting to cloud over again, she leaned in and shouted in his face. “ _Thor!”_

He blinked again, more rapidly. And this time she could actually _see_ him wake up, shaking the clouds off.

“Darcy? Why are you yelling?” he questioned. “What has happened? I-” And then his blue eyes snapped into focus, widening with intent and alarm. “Loki! My brother – you were saying something about him?” Now it was his turn to grab her by the arms.

“Oh thank gods, you’re back,” Darcy sighed. “Thor, there’s something _seriously_ wrong with Jane.”

“Yes,” he agreed at once, musing. “She has not at all been like herself.” He glanced over his shoulder, back in the direction of the door between them and where she was. “I should-”

“No, don’t!” Darcy managed to pull free enough to latch onto him. “I don’t know what’s going on, but if you go back in there you’ll just get the whammy put on you all over again. You have to stay _away_ from her.”

“But how else are we to find out what is causing this?” Thor asked, despairingly. “How else are we to save her?”

“I don’t know,” Darcy admitted. She shook her head and sighed, frustrated, as she thought out loud. “If it’s magic though, then that’s another reason we need to find Loki. Maybe he could fix it.”

“You think what’s wrong with Jane must be some sort of magic?” Thor shot a look at the door again. “That she is under some kind of curse?”

“It’s like she’s been replaced with a pod person ‘Mean Girls’ version of herself,” Darcy retorted. “There isn’t much in the way of mundane explanations for that. Why, what do you think?”

Thor frowned contemplatively, head moving like he was trying to clear it further.

“I do not know. The past few days are as if in a dream in my mind – maybe longer. I can remember nothing Jane did or said specifically, only that my every instinct tells me something is wrong.”

“No kidding. Could someone be trying to wreck your engagement by messing with you?”

“Both I and Asgard have no shortage of enemies. But I’m at a loss as to think who would try to interfere with us in this way.” Thor’s expression darkened. “Unless…”

“Unless what?” Darcy pounced on that eagerly.

Instead of replying Thor gazed at her, giving an anxious and guilty look. The pieces clicked into place in Darcy’s head.

“You think _Loki_ might have done this? No way!”

“Darcy…”

“No,” she cut him off, stubborn. “I don’t believe it. I know messing with you is like his thing, but this was so important to you guys. Why would he? What could he possibly have to gain from it?”

“My brother didn’t always need something to gain so long as he could make me look the fool,” Thor said gravely. “It would explain why he chooses not to show his face now. And…I didn’t want to tell you this, Darcy. But shortly before he disappeared, we had an argument. It seemed to me Loki does not approve of my marriage to Jane.”

“He never said anything about it to me,” Darcy protested weakly. _Though he did, at one point, go on about how dumb it was for a god to marry a mortal._ “Listen. If Loki was mad at you, or Jane, or anyone else, he sounded like he was over it the last time we talked. He was much more worried about Nanna. What if _she’s_ done something to him? Kidnapped him, or-”

“The idea would be outrageous,” Thor said, flabbergasted. “Our aunt is a noblewoman. Her grief and rage may be great, but to actually do such a thing-”

“You think _that’s_ less likely than Loki using his magic to attack you and Jane?” Darcy demanded angrily.

Thor’s expression fell. “I don’t know,” he said softly, greatly saddened. “You have no idea how much I’d like to believe that my brother is innocent. That he would never hurt me this way again.” He hung his head. “I _do_ believe it – but I can’t be certain whether or not that comes from mere hope.”

Darcy tried to relax her ire, looking at Thor with more sympathy. The past was always going to make things really hard between the brothers, unfortunately.

“Why don’t we agree to disagree,” she offered. “Whether Loki had anything to do with it or not, whether he’s in trouble or he just ran away, the point is he’s been gone for weeks, and we need to find him.”

Thor straightened up. “Yes,” he concurred, grasping onto this as his princely reserve returned to him. “Whether it was of his own doing or not, Loki’s disappearance is a cause for concern. And if I am looking for him, it will give me an excuse to stay away from Jane.”

“Which can only be a good thing at this point,” Darcy couldn’t help but saying, “because I don’t think you can afford to lose any more brain cells. I promise I’ll try to keep an eye on her for you while you’re gone, okay? Hard as it’ll be for me to stand her.”

Thor smiled and rested a hand on Darcy’s shoulder.

“Thank you, for everything you have done. You are as ever a good friend to me and my family.”

Darcy managed to smile back at him, a stinging in her eyes. “You’re welcome. Now get out there and bring our boy home.”

*

Steve Rogers had witnessed a lot of amazing things both during the war and after, when he had been thawed out to find himself more than half a century into the future.

But this was the first time he was looking directly at what was literally another world, and one right out of ancient man’s myths and legends at that.

He stood on the front lawn of Asgard’s palace, gazing up at the spiraling towers and domes. Everything gleamed a rich golden color in the afternoon sunlight. And Steve couldn’t stop staring, standing where he was with an impressed smile on his face.

“Well I’ll be damned.”

Tony’s voice half-shook him out of his reverie. Without turning his head Steve looked over his shoulder.

His two teammates stood there taking in the same view he was. Clint had his arms folded, silent, eyes scanning across everything while his expression remained inscrutable. Tony had stopped walking and put his hands on his hips, taking in a breath with a thoughtful sound.

“You know, all those times the Viking wonder went on about the glories and majesty of home, I had mostly figured the reality couldn’t possibly live up to the way he made it sound.”

A faint grin bloomed on Steve’s face. Tony hadn’t blinked once; though he was hardly slack-jawed with wonder, considering how much effort he usually went to appear jaded, it meant something that he was begrudgingly letting on that he had been impressed.

“Come on,” Clint broke in. “We can sight-see later. Maybe there’s gift shop somewhere that has postcards.”

 He jerked his head, indicating the platoon of Asgardian soldiers that were following them.

“Not that I’m on a timetable, but I’m betting these guys would appreciate it if we didn’t make them stand here for too long.”

Steve turned around more fully to take in the armored men who appeared perfectly stoic, despite the fact that all of them were weighted down by the visitors’ luggage.

When the three Earthmen had arrived at the end of the Bifrost, they had been greeted by a large somewhat intimidating man in golden armor (Steve had just barely caught Tony muttering something about a “resemblance to Nick Fury” under his breath). They had then been turned over to the soldiers who were there to escort them across the bridge, and who’d offered to carry their belongings for them.

Steve had politely demurred, and with minimal effort lifted one of his bags up onto his shoulder, carrying the other dangling freely from one hand.

He had however been the only one out of the three. Tony swept an impassive glance across the no less than five Asgardians his own crates and bags had been distributed among.

“Guess Arrowhead’s got a point,” he remarked. “After all we’re going to be here for a while. No sense in dawdling.”

Steve took one last look up at the skyline. His mind wandered to the sketchbook and pencils tucked away in the bag he carried with his right hand.

Hopefully at some point over the next few weeks there would be time between celebrations to sit down somewhere and draw; to try and capture all this on paper. It was an opportunity that would be a shame to miss.

They were led inside the palace and found an interior that matched the outside in grandeur and splendor. Before any of them could think to ask ‘What next?’, Thor appeared to greet them.

“My friends,” he called. He moved toward them and Steve set down his bags to free himself up for the acceptance of a clasped hand. “It is so good to see you again. I trust your journey went well?”

“Piece of cake,” Clint replied. “Not that Stark didn’t make enough jokes about transporter accidents and molecules scattered all across the universe.”

“It made Bruce laugh,” Tony returned mildly, unrepentant. He looked around with a whistle. “Boy, he is going to be so sorry he missed out on this.”

“Someone had to stay behind just in case we were actually needed for defense,” Steve reminded him. “We should be glad he and Agent Romanoff volunteered. Otherwise we might’ve had to draw straws.”

Thor’s smile, Steve realized belatedly, was not quite as cheerful as it should have been. Absently he commanded the servants to take the men’s things to their rooms, before turning back to his friends.

“It is my deepest regret to tell you all that you arrive to find circumstances not as pleasant as they should be.”

“What’s the matter, big guy, trouble in paradise already?” Tony cracked. “Something between you and the soon to be Mrs. The Mighty Thor? You guys are a full year away from even heading down the aisle; I thought that kind of trouble wasn’t supposed to crop up until at least after the honeymoon-”

“Tony,” Steve cut him off, soft but firm, “stop.”

Reflexively Tony gave a petulant scowl, but he fell silent as his eyes drifted over to Thor. As the other man had been speaking the Asgardian’s face had turned wan, grim.

“Indeed,” Thor murmured, “it does have to do with Jane. And there are other matters as well…”

“Whatever it is, you know if we can, we’ll do anything to help,” Steve promised.

“Would that I could pass on your generous offer, the truth is I have great need for your aid,” Thor told them. “Loki has been missing for more than a fortnight.” He swallowed. “There is…some fear that harm may have come to him. Wherever in the Nine Realms he has gone to, he must be found.”

“Of course,” Clint noted, dryly. “Things go wrong, figures Loki would be caught in the middle of it.”

“No kidding,” Tony chimed in. “Guy worked his way off of the list for our rogues’ gallery and he’s still finding ways to cause us problems.”

Steve didn’t add any words of his own on the situation. He remained silent, a prickle of anxiety in his gut.

Thor’s eyes sought out his and he rested one hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“I know out of all the Avengers you are the one my brother is closest to; that he considers you a friend. Though I can’t say with certainty Loki’s hands are clean in this, I will come to no conclusions until there has been more proof.” His gaze was beseeching. “Please, will you lend me your strength in bringing him home again?”

“Of course, Thor,” Steve said earnestly, with no hesitation.

He had been looking forward to spending some time with Loki almost as much as he had anything – the thought something might’ve happened to him made Steve pretty concerned himself.

“Just let me know where and when you want me.”

“Well now we’re in too; can’t be letting Captain Boy Scout make the rest of us look bad.” Off his relaxed, half-serious remark Tony looked over to Clint. “And you said I was being silly for insisting we pack our gear and outfits.”

Clint gave a loud sigh. “What I actually said was that hopefully it would be a waste of time, because we shouldn’t have any reason to need them.”

Tony pointed. “There you go,” he said in his most infuriatingly reasonable tone. “You shouldn’t have said that. Basically, you jinxed us.”

Steve had no choice but to give a weary laugh at that. He hated to admit it, but Tony was probably right.

*

Accompanied by his friends, dressed for both travel and battle alike should it be encountered, Thor led the way once more to the Bifrost’s end point.

An odd sight they must make, he mused. To one side noble warriors of Asgard bedecked in armor. To the other a cluster of mortals in dress he knew could at times seem outlandish even on Midgard.

Thor charged down the rainbow road, making fast time astride his horse. Sif, Hogun and Fandral rode slightly behind him in a spear-point formation, and betwixt them was Captain Rogers in the red, white and blue raiment that served as his mail, shield on his back, handling the horse he’d been lent with decently admirable proficiency.

Hawkeye was uninterested in a horse and had without objection deigned to ride behind Sif on hers. Strong arms wrapped around her waist, he leaned forward with her balance so his weight would not be a hindrance, quiver full of arrows prepped and ready where it slung across his shoulders.

And above all their heads was a streak of red and gold as the Man of Iron matched their pace effortlessly, no doubt restraining the limits of his glorious mechanical armor so he did not beat his companions to their destination.

Thor had filled his human friends in on everything best he could when he wished to spare no time for details. Jane’s strange behavior, the bad blood between Loki and their aunt, some of his brother’s behavior before he had vanished.

They seemed to act as though they understood, or perhaps they merely went along, feeling it more important that they help him. In truth Thor couldn’t care which it was, so long as it granted him aid.

His warrior companions too had been apprised of the circumstances, the parts they didn’t already know. Though he was forced to keep them in the dark as to what secret it was exactly Nanna had become privy to, he was able to somewhat vaguely imply she could possibly threaten the family’s reputation, and luckily they accepted this without asking any further questions.

Even with the addition of the Avengers their party seemed lopsided without Volstagg there to complete the Warriors Three. But though they could’ve used every hand, Thor hated to pry him away from his wife and newborn son at such an intimate time. Though his old friend certainly would’ve joined had Thor asked, he preferred not to cause that discomfort.

Reaching the observatory, they brought their horses to a halt and dismounted. Agent Barton had just successively finished propelling himself from the saddle without entangling any limbs in the stirrups when Stark landed in front of them with a resounding clank.

_“So remind me again how this works_ ,” he asked in his resonant voice, the sound of his armor’s flight devices dying away. _“Master of finding back and side doors that he is, Loki could’ve gotten out about any possible way. Yet here we are checking in with the guy who runs the most obvious toll booth.”_

“Heimdall is more than merely a gate guardsman, good Sir Anthony,” Fandral corrected him, glib. “He sees and hears all. It’s why he was given the task of guarding the road into Asgard.”

“With his far-reaching sight, he might have seen how Loki left, or where it is he is hiding now,” Thor determined.

“That is assuming Loki hasn’t hidden himself using magic,” Sif put in, quietly. “He has done it before. When he doesn’t wish to be found.”

Thor drew a breath. “Even if Heimdall can tell us nothing, if he can’t find Loki we can infer from that that my brother left of his own volition. So at the very least, we have one answer.”

_“Okay then,”_ Stark said with remarkable aplomb. _“Whatever you say, Goldilocks. It’s your rodeo.”_

“Goldilocks?” Fandral repeated in a muttered aside to Hogun, baffled. Hogun merely shrugged, not understanding the reference any better than his fellow.

Heimdall held his usual placement, sword in hand, eyes gazing past those in front of him into the distance. When Thor and the others came nearer he drew up, filling his great lungs with air.

“My prince,” he greeted. “I have been wondering when the search for answers would bring you to my side.”

“Well this is off to an encouraging start,” Fandral noted, sounding pleased.

Thor took a moment to collect himself, as unsettled as he was made hopeful by the implication that the watcher had been waiting for him.

“Heimdall,” he announced, “my brother, Loki, has for some weeks past not been found within the halls of Asgard.”

Heimdall did not move a muscle. There was not a flicker in the path of his golden eyes. “I know.”

An invisible fist began to squeeze Thor’s heart as his hope soared. “Then can you tell me where he has gone? Where he is now?”

Heimdall’s voice was solemn as he stated, “I cannot.”

Thor frowned intensely. “You mean to say you cannot see him?”

“I mean that I cannot tell you if Loki walked this way or not, nor can I tell you for certain in what realm he may be found.”

Thor’s shoulders dropped. He looked down at the carved crystal path beneath his feet.

“Thank you, Heimdall,” he said quietly, after a moment, forcing his head to rise so he could respectfully meet the gatekeeper’s eyes as he nodded.

Heimdall didn’t nod back, or say anything. His mouth pressed harder into a line.

Silence was usually Heimdall’s way so Thor didn’t read anything into it. He turned away from the guardian to face his friends.

“If he’s cloaked from Heimdall’s sight, we can only assume Loki’s flight from Asgard was a purposeful one,” he said, unhappy but resolute. “This changes some things, but he must still be found.”

“There must be some other way to track him,” Captain America said.

“We may need to ask the All-Father,” Hogun responded.

“Hang on just a second.”

Everyone’s eyes automatically moved to Barton, surprised, as the agent interrupted. There was a blank look on his face as he watched Heimdall, his arms crossed, a slight crease of contemplation formed in his brow.

“Why did he say it like that? He never told you he couldn’t _see_ Loki. Not in any certain words.”

Thor blinked. “Does it matter?”

“Yes,” Sif chimed in slowly, thoughtful. “It does.” She took a step forward, looking up to her half-brother. “Heimdall made a point to say he cannot tell us where Loki is.”

She readdressed her words to Heimdall, “But never did you say that you did not know.”

“I did not,” Heimdall affirmed, peaceably.

_“What is this,”_ Iron Man demanded, _“some kind of riddle? See, this is exactly why I hate playing around with magic and sorcerers. One poor choice of words later and you’ve been turned into a newt.”_

“A _newt?_ ” Fandral exclaimed, mystified.

_“I got better.”_ No doubt keeping a straight face was especially easy when it was concealed by a mask.

Thor ignored his friends’ bickering. “What is the meaning of this trickery?” he asked Heimdall, trying and failing not to grown impatient. “Heimdall, why do you not give us a straight answer? It is your duty to lend aid to Asgard whenever she may require it. And we need you now.”

“And I am doing my best to obey, I promise you,” Heimdall said, “within the confines of my duty. I am doing all that I can.”

“But you cannot tell me whether or not you have seen Loki.”

“No, my prince. I regret to inform you that I cannot.”

Bitterly Thor gave a scoff. “Then what help can you give to me? What force compels Heimdall the Gatekeeper to hold his tongue?”

“Thor,” Rogers held up one hand, indicating he should try calming down, “maybe that’s exactly the question we need to be asking.” He too took a step forward, addressing Heimdall in a clear, respectful voice. “Did someone order you not to talk about whether you had seen Loki?”

Not one muscle changed in Heimdall’s posture. Yet somehow there was the sense he had given a slight sigh of relief. “Yes.”

Thor was shocked. “Who could have done this? The only high command you should answer to is that of my father!”

“I swear fealty to the All-Father and whoever holds the crown of Asgard,” Heimdall replied. “But throughout my many years, that is not the only oath I have sworn.”

Sif exhaled with a gasp.

“Lady Freya.” She looked the others, stricken. “She earned an oath of a single favor at the beginning of the war with the Frost Giants.”

“But you don’t think…” Thor trailed off, mind racing.

The pieces still didn’t fit entirely right for him. More so, even the beginnings of what this was hinting at seemed too disturbing to consider. It was an act just shy of treason.

_“You said your one aunt works for the other,”_ Stark reminded him. _“If Nanna wanted Loki gone, and Freya had the key to doing that, wouldn’t she arrange it for her?”_

“So what are we saying?” Fandral put in. “That somehow Loki was coerced into leaving, and Lady Freya made Heimdall swear not to tell anybody?”

“It seems like a great way to have covered up the tracks,” was Hawkeye’s opinion.

“Yes,” Sif agreed, looking grim, “it certainly does.”

“Look on the bright side, Thor,” Rogers told him softly, noting the aghast look on Thor’s face. “It means Loki didn’t run away after all. This wasn’t his choice.”

“Yes,” Thor agreed slowly, taking a small amount of courage. “You’re right. Though that means we must have greater concerns for his safety.”

He turned back to Heimdall once more.

“Heimdall. Confirm this for me. You were honor bound by Freya of Vanaheim not to reveal if my brother had used the Bifrost.”

“Correct,” Heimdall stated.

“Nor, because of your word to her, can you now tell us where he may presently be found.”

“Correct.”

Thor considered the matter hard. Finally, with careful precision, he inquired, “But Heimdall. Can you not use the Bifrost to _take_ us to the same place?”

A feeling of approval seemed to emanate from the ancient warrior.

“That,” he informed Thor with great pleasure, “I most certainly can do.”

He turned and went inside, not looking back to see if they would follow as he sheathed his sword in the center platform, causing the air to electrify as the Bifrost readied itself.

_“See,”_ Stark remarked , deadpan. _“That wasn’t so hard.”_

“We must move quickly,” Hogun said, terse, the first to walk his way through the observatory’s awning.

_“Oh right, I forgot.”_ Stark followed after him without missing a beat. His metallic footsteps rang oddly against the space’s floors. _“You’re the fun one.”_

“What do you think, Thor?” Captain Rogers asked. “It’s your play. Should we all go, or does someone need to run back to the palace and let them know what’s up?”

Thor swiftly shook his head. “There’s no telling where Loki may be, what enemies or kind of trouble he may have found. I would rather be as prepared as we can be, even if it means those still on Asgard will have to worry a bit longer.”

Fandral had already run inside the Bifrost, not waiting for Thor’s word. At his decision, both Sif and Barton nodded and went in to the outer ring as well.

Captain America met his eyes. “Okay,” he told Thor, accepting his decision. Side by side the two of them entered. Though his friend was bold in battle Thor didn’t think it imagination that Rogers seemed slightly apprehensive as he glanced around.

“One more trip across the universe. Gotta tell you, I’m not sure I entirely trust how this thing handles,” he admitted.

Thor laughed. “Fear not, my friend!” He patted him on the back. “The Bifrost has been standing in faithful service for many eons.”

“And you and your brother tore it apart fairly recently in a smackdown drag-out fight,” Hawkeye spoke up dryly from his point.

“True,” Thor had to admit. But his confidence never wavered. “But it was rebuilt strong as ever, with guidance from the wisdom of my Jane.”

_“Oh sure,”_ went Stark, ever one to get the last word in. _“Make it so we can’t distrust the Bifrost without dissing your fiancée.”_

Thor knew better than to respond to that with anything but a quiet chuckle. Anyway, it wasn’t what was important. He had his allies at his back and they were on their way to find his brother.

He had to have faith that whatever came next, together they were more than equipped to deal with it.

_Hang fast, Loki,_ Thor thought as the white lighting hit and everything began to blur. _We are coming for you._

*

Yet more time had come and gone on Svartalfheim. The troupe of entertainers continued their travels, leaving behind villages for grander cities as they grew and grew in notoriety.

It could be days at a time before after leaving one stop they arrived at the next. Their caravan took them through long stretches of countryside down dirt roads, and past less affluent towns where Nezzori no longer took interest in scheduling a performance.

It meant they were seeing more of the realm. For that, Loki was grateful. But though he searched and searched, wearing himself thin casting scrying charms and weaving layers of divination, he’d yet to find the path that could take him home.

And now their travels were taking them further south, closer to the equator and closer to the sea.

The season wasn’t changing. But it was growing warmer by the day.

Loki had for the most part adjusted to his Jotun body. He found no pleasure in it, and could only look on his reflection with resigned dislike, but he understood its necessity. To maintain Throkk’s identity and form served him well for the time being.

But his needs and limits were that of a pure-blooded Frost Giant. The hot weather was beginning to suffocate him.

More than that, Loki disliked keeping the same shifted form for so long. Especially this one: for it drew not on magic as the source of his disguise but his own tainted nature. He understood he was a changeling but frankly, he knew not the finer details of how everything ‘worked’, what it meant for him when the balance shifted.

He’d never taken on Jotun form fully and held it like this before. There was a niggling fear at the back of his mind: what if he couldn’t change back?

The next time they stopped Loki kept his eyes out for a time when he was left completely alone to his own devices. He got his opportunity that very afternoon.

By now Throkk didn’t have to share quarters with the other girls – she’d been given her own small tent to sleep and keep her possessions in. Loki instructed Balder to stand guard at front outside, to not let anyone in for any reason.

Then he went to the area he had for washing up, gripping the basin with both hands as he leaned forward at the waist, staring intently at his own reflection.

His hair was lank and undecorated, clinging to the back of his neck. He wore one of his dancing costumes, a triangle-shaped top paired with loose low-slung pants. The air felt thicker in the heat, clinging to his body, humid. He was a little lightheaded and his skin was clammy and damp, almost like he was melting.

Loki breathed in through his nostrils, stifling a moan as he lifted his hair up and tugged at it. He needed relief. If only for a little while.

Gathered up cold water between his hands he splashed his face, letting the droplets run down the rest of his bared skin. Then he removed his top and stood there, naked to the waist, focusing as he let it begin.

First he did what he considered the easier part and let go of his seiðr, changing from a woman back to a man. Beneath the veneer of leathery blue skin and ember eyes his chest flattened, shoulders broadened and the curves of his legs and hips disappeared, as the shape of his face changed and his hair seemed to grow backwards.

Loki glanced down at his now more muscular forearms, still bearing the raised lines that marked a Jotun. He looked at the black claw-tipped hands that rested on the white porcelain basin.

With a faint shudder he exhaled, slow and deep. Squeezing his eyes shut he reached inside himself and willed what he wanted to happen.

He pictured his Asgardian form. Traced memories of how it felt, with softer skin and warmer flesh, how the world looked through vision less adapted to the dark, and his food went down differently when his body no longer demanded it cold. When he had teeth instead of fangs, and green eyes instead of red.

_Let it be,_ Loki recited over and over. _Let it happen. Let it be._

And in the faintest mental whisper he added, _Please._

There was a spreading heat all over that started in his belly, a warmth like stepping into a ray of sunshine, and Loki opened his eyes full of triumph and greatest relief to watch as the last shadows of blue were chased away from his face.

An astonished gasp caught his attention immediately. Loki spun around, nerves raised.

Balder stood there gaping at him, eyes wide, color drained from his face.

“I asked you to keep watch at the entrance,” Loki snapped, aggravated for the sudden unnecessary scare.

Balder didn’t seem to hear him. He kept right on staring. “You were telling the truth,” he said, stilted. “You really _are_ my cousin!”

Loki stepped towards him, rubbing the back of his neck absently. “Of _course_ I am, why would you even have to ask-”

He stopped, eyes jumping to Balder as he was struck by realization.

“You didn’t believe me,” he stated, astounded.

Slowly Balder shook his head. “No. Of course not. Can you _blame_ me? True sorcerers on Asgard are rare, and what are the odds that my cousin, a prince of Asgard, would not only have reached those heights but also just _happen_ to be wandering on Svartalfheim, disguised, and cross paths with me by accident?”

And to think Loki had chalked it up to Balder being gullible.

No; he had taken in the unlikelihood of the situation perfectly, and judged it to be highly doubtful. Loki underestimated him greatly.

“No wonder you never asked me any questions,” he realized out loud. “You didn’t want to waste time because you figured it’d all be lies.”

“Yes.” Balder nodded. “I didn’t want you to think I suspected anything.”

Loki frowned, at a loss. “But if you didn’t believe I was who I claimed, then why have you been going along with me?”

“You said you could get me back to Asgard. After all this time…I figured, so long as there was a chance-”

“But I could have been lying about that as well,” Loki exclaimed, incensed. He had been too quick to let Balder off the hook for being foolish – if anything, he was even _more_ trusting and naïve than Loki had first thought. “On some vague hope, you thought it wise to put your life in the hands of a stranger, with intentions unknown to you and who you believed already misled you? Oh, for Nidhogg’s sake – how _stupid_ could you be!”

Balder went sheepish in the face of Loki’s outburst. “I’m not a child anymore. I thought if anything happened I could handle it.”

“A child would make a similar claim,” Loki retorted, scoffing with disbelief. “The centuries passed have clearly done nothing for your common sense.”

Balder was gazing at him still, oddly. “Maybe so,” he acknowledged, quiet.

For a moment they just looked at each other, uncertain, uncomfortable. There’d been a perceptible shift in the air. It occurred to Loki things had _changed_ now, that Balder actually knew who he was and truly believed in it. What this meant though he couldn’t predict.

Loki stayed where he was, head held evenly, waiting, as Balder looked him up and down.

“You grew tall,” Balder noted at length, and Loki almost laughed at the innocent observation. “And you…filled out, more than I would’ve expected. In my memories I have a vague sense of a cousin who was something of a beanpole.”

“I still look to be something on the scrawny side, if you put me next to Thor,” Loki remarked wryly. “If you think I’ve gotten big, wait until you see him.”

There was a pause as Balder’s face screwed up in consternation before he blurted out, “How is Thor?” It sounded as though it had just occurred to him he should wonder.

“Oh, where to begin?” Loki folded his arms, shifting his weight idly. “He still isn’t king, yet. He is however getting married.”

“Oh,” Balder said, quiet. He looked down. “How good for him.” He struggled with what to say next, before offering up, “She must be very lovely.”

“She is.” _And gifted. And mortal_. But Loki said neither of those things, holding his tongue.

He watched the expression on Balder’s face, the other man still looking at his own toes. In his estimation it seemed it had hit his cousin how much time had really passed – how much had changed, life on Asgard going on without him.

Loki wouldn’t have expected it of himself, but suddenly he felt very sorry for Balder.

“You were missed,” Loki promised him, softly, earnest. “Asgard mourned you as one of its greatest losses.”

“Greater than one of the legendary heroes who shaped the realm, or the soldiers whose blood spilt on the field of honor?” Balder remarked. “I was a boy; I did nothing extraordinary. Who _was_ I, that Asgard deemed me so important?”

He was at a loss, and Loki realized it was a genuine question. Balder still didn’t really remember anything. He had no sense of who he was, and by now the mystery must have plagued him.

“You are Balder the Bright,” Loki told him. Moving closer he cupped a hand against his cousin’s neck, trying to lend him strength through the gesture. “Balder the Beautiful. Only son of Frey and Nanna, a lord of Vanaheim and a warrior of Asgard. You are brave, compassionate, honorable and true.”

Loki realized he wasn’t only repeating what he knew the rest of Asgard would say. He was speaking the truth; the truth he saw in his own memories, now he looked back on them in a clearer, different light. And the truth he’d learned from spending time with this Balder, half-formed though he was.

He continued, “You are a friend to many and admired by all. And when you died,” his voice caught; “When you were murdered-”

Balder was looking straight at him, eyes open and emotive and pleading. Loki couldn’t stand it.

He pulled his hand away, moving back out of reach. “Do you remember anything, about how you died?”

“Yes,” Balder said quietly. “Not…like I was there, but – it was you, wasn’t it?” He was more thoughtful than accusing. “I can’t explain it, but somehow I remember that…it was you.”

One of Loki’s hands clenched into a fist as he held it near the knot in his stomach. “Yes. But I wasn’t trying to…it was never my intention to end your life. Surely anyone should have known…”

The words wouldn’t come. All his reasonable defenses, his arguments, his protests, they died on his lips with Balder standing there in front of him, hair white like a shade and looking so destitute and lost.

That guilt that had been a weight on his shoulders, that had been making him sick to his stomach, refused to go ignored and unnamed any longer.

Loki drew a breath and swallowed to keep his voice from shaking.

“I’m _sorry_ ,” he choked out. “I’m so sorry. I was jealous and angry and _spiteful_ and I wanted to hurt you. I-”

Balder raised a hand, asking for silence. “It was an accident, wasn’t it? And it was so very long ago.” He gave Loki a faint smile. “And you aren’t out to harm me anymore, since all you’ve been doing is helping me. I forgive you.”

Loki’s voice was hoarse. “It isn’t supposed to be that easy.”

Balder frowned. “Why not?” he asked, genuinely puzzled.

“Because it’s _not_. That isn’t how these things work. When you do something wrong, things change, forever. They leave a mark that can be seen, and do what you will they will never go back!” Loki broke off in a near-hysterical shout.

He turned, half putting his back to Balder, not wanting to show his face as he breathed heavily, eyes wild.

Tentatively Balder came at him, hand outstretched.

“What’s become of you?” he asked after a moment, hushed and sounding very sad. “It can’t just be me. There’s a shadow that hangs over you now that I’ve noticed. You’re so serious. I think you’re much quieter than I remember.” There was regret in his voice; maybe he knew more than he actually realized. “What happened to the trickster that made Asgard such a lively place?”

“He grew up, and tired of being everyone else’s jester,” Loki muttered bitterly. “He wanted to be taken seriously, to be noticed, to be _seen_ for what he was: just as good as the rest of them.” He breathed in a wet hiss. “But he reached too far.”

He spun away from Balder’s hand and wandered across the length of his quarters over to the bed, sitting down on it because his legs felt numb, like they could no longer support him.

And again Balder followed. He waited, probably expecting Loki to order him to leave. But Loki said nothing. He laced his fingers tightly and brought them in front of him, bowing so his knuckles dug into his forehead as he shut his eyes.

Realizing a dismissal wasn’t coming, with gradual movements as if approaching a wounded animal, Balder lowered himself so he sat next to Loki on the bed, less than an arm’s length between them.

“Cousin, please. Won’t you tell me what happened?”

“I’m not your cousin,” Loki bit out. He didn’t lift his head, bending further in on himself. “No more than I am Thor’s brother, or Odin’s son. I might as well tell you, because if I take you back to your mother I’m sure she’ll let you know the truth. I was not born of Asgard, but of Jotunheim. That’s why I have always been the outcast – I am a Jotun monster.”

For a very long pregnant pause Balder said nothing. No doubt he was struggling to believe it, to comprehend.

“But I don’t understand. What does that have to do with-?”

“I never knew. I never knew, but then I found out and I, I…I was already so mad at Thor. At Father. I had been rejected, and cast aside, one time too many.” Loki’s muscles tightened, his teeth grit. “But finding out why I was unworthy to be Odinson? It burned a hole through me. It felt like I was destined to suffer, and if so be it, then I wanted all to suffer along with me. It was only fair.”

Balder’s voice was muffled with fear. “What did you do?”

Loki lifted his shoulders as he inhaled, anger gone in an instant to be replaced by regret, and sorrow. “Oh, I tried to kill Thor. I…did a hundred wicked and shameful things. Forgive me if I don’t want to list all of them. I left Asgard; I banished myself. For what felt like a very long time, I wandered. I don’t know now that I could say what my goal truly was.”

Balder was speechless, which was probably for the best. Loki dropped his hands enough that his face could be revealed.

He realized his mouth was trembling. That his throat was sore with the tears wanting to come.

“I know that I did wrong. I can never argue that. But though I am blessed enough to be forgiven, at times forgiveness seems like the worst punishment of all.”

“How so?” Balder asked him, numbly.

Loki shook his head, twitching. “I am home. But nothing is the way it’s supposed to be. No one trusts me. I wouldn’t mind, but my own family…I see the way they look at me. I am quiet for too long, and they worry about the nature of my thoughts.”

He struggled to breath, to speak evenly. The pile he had so long been holding back, precarious and uneasy, was finally upset. The things he’d bee refusing to say to anyone came tumbling out.

“Father is _so_ afraid of upsetting me, that he treats me like I’m an invalid. No matter what I do he won’t speak out against it. But does he think such distance is better than disapproval? And Mother…she tries not to cling, but she’s haunted. All she wants is to hold fast as if at any moment I’ll disappear.”

He raised his chin, rueful. “Thor spends his time worrying about _my_ happiness. He won’t let himself disagree with me. One angry word and then his mouth shuts tight, like argument is all it takes to set us at odds. Before I complained he ignored me, so now he thinks it his responsibility to see I’m never alone.”

He pictured the nervous, searching looks he always saw in his family’s eyes. They couldn’t even pretend for him, not really. They were waiting, watching for a sign, expecting him to repeat his mistakes.

At the thought Loki’s voice finally broke. Full of raw misery his arms crossed, hands clutching at opposite shoulders.

“It’s like this every single day.” He shook his head. “Much as I hated how things were before, sometimes I wish it could go back. That in a way it was _better_ then.”

When his grievances were still shut tight inside – when he was ignorant to what he had to lose, to how bad things could become. He drew in, hugging himself tighter.

“But it will never be like that. We are broken, and will never again be whole. And this is _my_ fault,” he gasped out with a miserable certainty. “It’s all because of my mistakes. I ruined _everything_.”

He missed Asgard so much. This was the first since his being accepted back that he’d been gone for so long, and not of his own volition. The longest time without seeing his friends and family.

The soul-deep pain of loss and longing that he denied himself during his outcast period was now his for the taking. He was free to pine, free to admit how upset he was over what was beyond his reach. In a way it was better to truly _feel_ his sorrow, not pushing it away for reasons of resentment and pride.

But the distance too made clearer how miserable his current circumstances on Asgard were. His daily struggle at trying to make himself fit the space he left behind, only to be thwarted at every turn because both he and the people around him had changed.

It was selfish to want things to be like they had before, utter selfishness; to be loved or at least tolerated, like he had never done the things that he had done.

Knowing that however wasn’t enough to take the desire from him. It ate him up with despair.

As Loki sat there, breathing shallow and unhappy, suddenly he felt Balder press a warm hand into the space between his shoulders, arm moving around in an embrace.

He lifted his head to see Balder watching him with gentle sympathy.

“I know it must be difficult. It certainly doesn’t sound as if you, or the others, have been through an easy time.” His words were calm and soft, but backed by the strength of conviction. “But I think, if you give them time, they will only get better. Right now you are making your amends. It will be a struggle, but things only go uphill from here.”

Balder hesitated, gathering and trying to form his thoughts.

“I know I must seem to you like I’m in no position to give advice,” he admitted. “I am not a king, or a sorcerer. I know nothing of justice or the way the world works. I know next to nothing about myself, so how could I be capable of judging others?”

He had such resolute, easy confidence. Neither forceful nor wheedling. It simply _was_.

“But from what I’ve seen, I don’t think it’s your lot to suffer, Loki. You don’t deserve it.” Balder lowered his head to make certain their eyes met. “You are not an evil person.”

“It seems you haven’t been listening to a word I’ve said,” Loki said in response to that, hoarse.

Balder only shook his head. “You are a…restrained person. For the most you mind your own business. But I’ve watched you all this time. You can be compassionate, generous. And you are anything but cruel.”

“Oh, but I can be. When the spirit moves me to it.”

“I’ll have to take your word on it – I haven’t seen it yet.” Balder offered up a faint smile, his eyes bright. “I think whatever it is you want, or need, on Asgard, you’re going to get it. You only need wait for it. Have courage, and patience. I know you lack for neither of those.”

“I suppose it can be managed,” was Loki’s feeble reply. He could feel moisture on his face where a few errant tears had fallen but he did not move to immediately wipe them away.

Somehow, without being fervent, without being overly persuasive, Balder had managed to bask him in the light of encouragement. He’d offered up neither judgment nor pity, only simple and straightforward words. But he believed in them so wholeheartedly, and that earnest belief was his strength.

What unexpected depths lay beneath such a humble surface. With gentle praise and the right soft-spoken entreaties, it was easy to imagine Balder could lead an army of men anywhere.

Was this what it felt like, Loki wondered, to be on the receiving end of Balder’s approval in the past? Was this the light and shining warmth that drew everyone to him, made them seek out his friendship?

If so, Loki could see why he had been so beloved. He regretted it that he never before experienced it for himself. How different things might have been, if instead of scorning Balder and keeping a distance, he had come closer and found out what he really was missing. The real reason for admiring him and putting him up on a pedestal.

But it was too late now. Such chances were long gone, and it would be too sentimental and pointless to mourn them.

Loki looked to his cousin and gave him a thin but effected smile. “Thank you,” he told him.

Balder drew his hand away, squeezing his shoulder in passing. “You’re welcome. But I only told you what I thought was the truth.”

“I know,” Loki assured. “That was why it meant so much to me.”

He stood up, roughly scrubbing at his face with a flicking gesture from the back of his hand.

“What time is it? It must be getting close to evening by now. I need to change.”

“You should probably put a shirt back on,” Balder agreed, easily.

Loki gave him a hard incredulous look, and Balder jumped.

“Oh! You mean… _changed_.” He got to his feet as well, embarrassed, gesturing randomly at Loki’s body. “Back into your other form.”

“I certainly hope so,” Loki said ironically. “I think it will be quite a disappointment to Nezzori if he doesn’t get what he expects.”

Balder gave a nervous laugh, almost a giggle. “I left something out in my earlier observations, cousin,” he noted. “You are also a _strange_ man.”

Loki shrugged at that, not the least bit offended.

“Is that such a surprise? I was a strange child,” he observed. “It’s natural my oddities would only increase with time.”

“I suppose so,” Balder concurred after only a moment’s thought.

And to think there had been a time when the two of them had seemed like oil and water. Yet there they were, accepting each other’s limitations without much hesitance at all.

And Loki found it a circumstance not at the least unpleasant.

*

Amora was feeling terribly bored. Not to mention simply in a bad mood in general.

Her room in the palace was filled with presents she’d been given, trinkets she’d commissioned, and offerings she’d demanded, and as she sulked prettily on an embroidered couch, she was surrounded by serving girls and lesser noblewomen there for the purpose of attending to her beauty treatments or offering up occasional prompted commentary on how flawless she looked.

Such attentions did not flatter her. She felt they were the minimum courtesy of what she deserved.

It was unfortunate enough, she thought, that she’d had to exchange her own body – with both its own natural gifts and hard-won magical enhancements – for the demonstrably inferior one of that doleful mortal woman. With a little effort it could be made to look…presentable, but she felt sour every time she looked in the mirror.

But ultimately it was a small and acceptable price for what it gave her. Thor on her arm, and Asgard’s crown. All she had to do was sit back, wait, and let it happen. No need to even snap her fingers, for it was coming to her.

The most powerful and handsome man as her plaything, and the riches of the Nine Realms at her feet. Finally, after all this time, it would be _hers_. It was all she’d ever wanted.

Well, no: not ‘all’. But certainly the most significant thing she ever desired.

Not to say that it’d been entirely simple. Oh, be-spelling sweet, gullible Thor was exactly as easy as she remembered; and as had been promised to her beforehand, by the time she was in place Loki was already out of the way.

The hard part was avoiding the All-Father, or anyone else who might either sense her magic or suspect something from her behavior. At times, now, that took some cleverness.

But as things stood at present there’d been plenty of distractions to rely upon. And if worse came to worse, well, Thor could be _so_ accommodating. In his current state it took little nudging from her for him to give whatever orders she wished.

And that would have been all well and good…except now Thor was _gone_.

It was her understanding he had left Asgard, right in the middle of his own engagement celebration, accompanied by a distinctly odd pack of companions. Rumor had it he was looking for his wayward brother.

It was very untoward and unexpected, and therefore quite baffling for everyone.

And for Amora, it had thrown her into a state of pique.

When Thor came back with Loki – well, _if_ he actually did – she would deal with that as it arose. In the past she’d used both princes against each other quite fluidly, there was no reason she couldn’t do it again.

But in the meantime what was the fun of being a princess in all but name without her favorite obedient servant, the best bauble she ever collected, there to do her bidding and keep her company?

It just wasn’t _fair_.

“My lady,” one of the ladies-in-waiting approached and Amora raised her eyelashes haughtily, showing she had her attention; “A man has arrived with the apples you requested.”

In her hands she held a silver platter lined with velvet and containing a half dozen of Asgard’s prized golden apples, neatly and elegantly stacked. Amora didn’t particularly crave them; it merely amused her to order they be brought to her on command.

Her gaze flitted languidly across the apples, then past them to the guard that had been dispatched to fetch them, standing obediently if somewhat nervously by.

Amora considered him. He was certainly no Thor but, well…he was a man. It always entertained to make a new one dance for her.

“You were the one who saw fit to fulfill my wish?” As she spoke she sent out a wave of enchantment, a warm spell of seduction designed to make him weak in the knees that floated on her breath. “How very kind.”

She could see the instant the magic landed. One moment he was blank, almost confused. The next his eyes fluttered, almost rolling back in his head, as if he’d smelled something intoxicating.

When his eyes focused again he was gazing at her in infatuated wonder.

“Oh, my lady.” He leapt forward, suddenly possessed with the grandeur and artful mannerisms of a knight, one hand to his breast as he took a knee, the better to look up at her worshipfully. “It was my sweetest, most heartfelt pleasure. For you, I would do anything. Say the word and I will fall down upon the point of my sword, if it would please you.”

Amora smiled. Well, at least she could pass the time until Thor returned to her.

And this would be suitably amusing. How many men, she wondered, could she have under her control at once?

“No, no, that won’t be necessary. For now.” She stifled a regal yawn, as she deigned to give him the back of her hand to kiss.


	6. Seven In One Blow

Tony tried not to feel like he had lost one of his major senses.

As he looked at the alien realm through his helmet’s sensors the HUD lit up, in alternating waves, like a Christmas tree; pinpointing and analyzing everything before him. The smaller displays tracking the suit’s functions ticked off in their respective corners. Far as he could tell – and he was very, very good at this sort of thing – even after two tries being slingshotted through a wormhole the armor was performing smoothly. It was all systems go.

But nothing felt quite the same without JARVIS’ voice offering dry commentary at his ears.

It nagged at him, like the suit’s timing was somehow off, like being dragged down by the weight of a phantom limb.

As spectacular an AI he had built, though, even a product of Tony’s genius at the caliber that was JARVIS couldn’t be on two opposite ends of the universe at the same time. Too much of the hardware was housed in physical locations on Earth anyway.

So for this mission Tony was – well, not exactly flying solo. He had an entire backup system of programming in the suit already in place just for this kind of eventuality. Being that it was _his_ programming, it appeared to be functioning flawlessly.

It didn’t think for itself, though. It was designed to go through certain processes automatically. And it didn’t talk back to him. Tony found that he missed that.

Nothing to be done about it, though. So he stuck to doing what he was doing.

And trying not to feel like he was flying blind.

“You’re being awfully quiet, Lord Stark,” Fandral commented from beside him. Spread in an arrow formation the group was trekking their way across a plain full of oily, waist-high grass. Well, the rest of the group was trekking; Tony had his thrusters engaged so he hovered a few feet up, boots just skimming the roughage. “Something on your mind?”

_“No. Not really,”_ Tony responded, easy. _“Just thinking about how I miss the voices in my head.”_

That earned him a wordless side-eye from most of the Asgardians.

Barton and Thor ignored him. Underneath his cowl however Cap’s face actually looked slightly pitying, because _goddammit, Steve_.

“You can run the suit okay without JARVIS, can’t you?” he asked, trying to disguise his concern at being solely practical and mission-based and not fooling Tony one iota.

_“Yeah, sure. Just the first time I’ve ever had to do it for an extended period, is all. It’s a little disorienting.”_ Emphatically he made a point to add, _“I’m fine.”_

Steve gazed at him unblinkingly. “I never said that you weren’t.”

The pause that came next lingered on about three seconds too long to not be considered awkward. _“Maybe I should fly ahead,”_ Tony suggested, _“scout the terrain a bit.”_

“Nay.” Thor looked back over his shoulder. “This realm could be a hostile one. Until we have a better idea where we are, we should stay together.”

“Thor’s right,” Steve agreed. Not like he was really in charge, at the moment – the alien prince was running the show, this being his area of expertise. “We could have enough problems. The last thing we need is someone getting lost or separated. So stick close.”

_“Fine.”_

Begrudgingly Tony disengaged his thrusters and dropped down to ground level. If he was going to have to stay at the group’s pace anyway, he might as well walk.

The gray weeds scraped against the armor on his legs and he raised his faceplate to shoot a grimace. Ugh, he was going to get burrs in his knee joints, wasn’t he?

“You know I don’t get why we even ended up out here, anyway,” he remarked suspiciously. “What, Heimdall can see everything and knows exactly where we need to go, so would it have killed him to actually _put_ us there?”

“I’m assuming we’re close as he could make it,” Barton said, looking steadily forward as he weaved his way through. “Probably shouldn’t fault the guy for not being able to pin the wings off a fly with a bazooka.”

“The _archer_ is stoically accepting of someone else’s bad aim. Seriously? Am I hearing this right?”

He gave Tony a withering look. “Far as I understand it, with every sight and sound in the universe screaming in his ear as background noise, Heimdall points what’s essentially a giant energy cannon at an entire _planet_ , from light-years away.” He hefted his bow, adjusting it. “Under those circumstances, I’m less than concerned about being able to hit the very center of the bull’s-eye.”

He kept walking and moved past Tony, who watched him, nonplussed.

From further ahead Sif called back, “The Bifrost should not be opened too close within the confines of civilization. It’s against the commands governing its uses. Should something go wrong, the surging energies could cause damage to what’s directly around it.”

Tony gesticulated at her. “See, you people should openwith that disclaimer. It’d save an immense amount of time.”

At the point of the formation Hogun suddenly came to a halt, raising one fist. The others immediately fell silent and stopped (Tony maybe a fraction of a second behind the others).

“There’s something up ahead,” the warrior observed out loud. “A village of some sort, or possibly larger.”

Tony slipped his faceplate back into place. _“Well, let’s see…”_

With telescopic lenses he zoomed in far ahead of what even the keenest naked eye could see. In the digital overlay scanners hit dozens of pinpoints to get a read on building construction and body heat, running calculations and sending back estimates on age of the settlement and population density.

_“Definitely more of a town,”_ he concluded. _“Maybe even a city, if you’re going by medieval standards.”_

“Could be a capitol or a military stronghold,” Hawkeye chimed in. He’d taken point and was staring off into the distance with that strangely glassy look in his eyes that meant he was using his own not-quite-a-superpower. “I’m seeing a lot of towers, soldiers, armaments. But what looks like a thriving marketplace as well.” He glanced at Thor. “Think it’s our destination?”

“This seems most likely. Can you tell me anything about the inhabitants?”

_“They look like they belong on Middle Earth,”_ was Tony’s helpful contribution.

“Or in the middle of a Dungeon and Dragons session,” Clint added, far from disagreeing with him. “In fact if I didn’t know any better I think I spotted a few Drow.”

“Drow?” Thor’s eyes lit up in understanding. “That is one of your terms for Dark Elves, yes? Then we are on Svartalfheim!”

As Sif and the two other Asgardian warriors exchanged dirty glances (apparently ‘Svartalfheim’ wasn’t the hotspot place to be) Tony made a note: _“Later on, we are definitely having a conversation about how exactly it is you know that. Because I’d like to know who in the world’s been feeding you notes on D &D.”_

“Loki,” Steve and Clint both said in perfect, toneless unison. Thor only gave Tony a wounded, slightly confused look.

The best thing Tony could come up to respond with, after a beat, was, _“It belatedly occurs to me that I have no normal friends.”_

Understatement of likely several millennium, but that’s what happened when you caught him flatfooted.

They kept walking and as they got closer and closer to what was revealing itself to be an in fact very large city surrounded by a high stone wall, the group began formulating a plan out loud.

“Svartalfheim is not the friendliest of most realms, but neither is it the most hostile,” Thor observed. “Now that we better understand the lay of the land, I think it’s time we split up.”

“Why?” Fandral questioned. “If this is where Heimdall sent us, then it can only mean Loki must be close.”

“True. But we do not know for sure he’s taken refuge in the city, and we should not assume thus. A city of this size has several surrounding villages – my brother could be in one of those.” He pointed. “Fandral, I want you to stay with me, and you as well, Tony Stark. The far-sight granted you by your armor will greatly aid us in searching these many buildings. The rest of you should comb the nearby countryside.”

Sif tilted her head, a courteous smile on her face while she looked to Captain America, even as her eyes flashed challengingly. “Who is in charge, you or me?” she inquired.

Steve grinned mildly in response. “I think it only makes sense in these circumstances to yield position of authority to the one more familiar with the terrain.” He raised both hands, bowing. “After you, ma’am – er, milady.”

The look of disapproval that’d briefly appeared on Sif’s face vanished in an instant, either appeased or simply charmed away by Steve’s socially inept fumbling.

Hogun and Clint exchanged a wordless glance and a nod. “We’ll meet you back here at what, sundown?” the archer asked Thor.

“It seems a goodly enough plan.” He raised an arm in farewell as the two designated groups pulled apart. “Stay safe, my friends.”

Tony wasn’t sure exactly what he himself expected to see once they passed through the stone barricade and were inside the city proper. A group of thugs in chainmail armed with bludgeons demanding to see their papers? Chariots, processions, knights in armor? Peasants in rags and a wandering playing strolling by with a lute?

For the most part it was like any city back home. People walking along laughing with their friends, hustling on errands or begging for change. Sure, the clothes were radically different, there were no iPods or cellphones, and a few of the ‘normal citizens’ had pointy ears or funny-colored skin…but other than that, it was like any other day.

His suit didn’t even draw much attention beside overtly curious sidelong glances. Maybe it was assumed to be a particularly fancy coat of armor.

_“So, this is exciting,”_ he had to remark brightly, after about half a block and several minutes. _“May I ask just what exactly the plan is?”_

“Plan! Why, what sort of adventurer are you, my friend?” Fandral laughed. “Everyone knows the most excitement comes when you work without.”

_“Uh huh,”_ clearing his throat, he refocused his attentions on Thor. _“So how ‘bout it, Homeward Bound? Any concrete ideas what we’re doing here?”_

“While sir Fandral’s enthusiasm may be a bit…misplaced,” Thor glanced sidelong at his pal, “for the most, he has the essence of it. If there is one thing Loki is unquestioningly good at, it is survival – adaptation. He’s been in this realm for many weeks. No doubt he’s made himself some niche.”

_“Yeah. The question is, is he keeping his head low – or doing the other thing?”_ He had witnessed firsthand the many rainbow flavors across the spectrum of Loki’s personality. On a bad day, he could make a bipolar off his meds look monotonous.

“There’s only one way to find out,” Thor responded. “By looking.”

So they did. For the better part of three hours. They were in some part of the planet Fandral and Thor seemed to have some familiarity with – or at least, they were quick about finding all the taverns and shady neighborhoods where lowlifes and information were most likely to hide.

But no one they asked could turn them onto a man of Loki’s description. It seemed in these parts he was unheard of and unseen.

Tony contributed to the search at its most basic level, by scanning busy streets and overhead crowded areas. But nothing came up on his facial recognition program.

“Perhaps the others will have some better luck,” Fandral offered. If he sounded putout, it was only because he was – no less than four times had Thor had to grab hold of him physically when his eyes and attentions wandered off onto some ‘fair maid’. Or ‘fair lass’. Or anything vaguely shaped female.

(Tony was definitely telling Pepper about that when he got home. To think she thought _he_ had problems.)

Thor was frowning deeply, too anxious about his brother to notice his friend’s attitude. “If only Heimdall had been able to tell us anything at all,” he complained. “I’ve no doubt he put us near to Loki, but there are too many places here he could hide.”

_“Almost a shame he got that whole megalomania thing out of his system early. If he’d conquered or ravaged the place, that’d make him easy to find.”_

Thor drew a breath and ground his teeth. “I will search this entire realm if I must,” he swore. “Leave no space unturned, question every soul, until I find my brother and bring him home!”

“I’ve heard this speech before,” Tony mused – but this time he kept it to himself, not letting it carry out via the speakers.

He turned his head. They were on a smaller cobbled road near the middle of town, in an area that was slightly rundown but far from desolate. The street rolled at a funny angle and every now and then there was a clattering sound from a horse-drawn cart that passed by. Women walked past with baskets on their heads or under their arms, and the air echoed with the faint sounds of voices coming from every direction.

One corner was nosier than most, and he recognized the open door and flurry of activity in the darkness that led to a lively bar.

_“Let’s have us a drink,”_ Tony suggested, hydraulics whirring as he already walked in that direction. He figured a short and well-earned break couldn’t do them any harm.

Thor and Fandral followed him, the latter with a noise of cheery agreement.

“I am hardly in the mood,” Thor protested, growling. “And we’ve no time to waste with these distractions!”

_“Sure we do,”_ Tony said without pause. _“This’ll only take a minute. I swear. Come on, it’ll help you clear your head. One quick nip while I buy a round for the house.”_ Then he did pause, remembering.

_“Uh, one of you guys can cover me on this, right? You know I’m good for it. I just left my wallet in my other pants. Plus, I’m assuming they don’t take plastic here. Just guessing.”_

“Perhaps we should seek another venue.” Thor had stopped walking and was staring, musing and slightly dumbfounded, at a fresh poster tacked up just above the door.

Tony turned around and tilted his neck. He couldn’t translate the writing (seriously, why _runes?_ ) but from the image the message was damn near unmistakable. A half-naked woman was pictured in mostly profile, body twisting in a suggestive pose as she gazed out at the viewer with a come-hither look. From the outfit he gathered she was supposed to be whatever in these parts passed for a stripper.

_“Live entertainment?”_ he observed.

“Dancing girls!” Fandral clapped Thor on the shoulder with a broad grin, chortling. “Good thinking, old friend! We’ll send you off to your inevitable marital fate right.”

_“Not surprising Asgard already knows of something like a bachelor party.”_

Thor shook his head, impatient, mind evidently on matters less carnal. He pointed. “That blue skin, those markings – that appearance is expected for the Frost Giants of Jotunheim,” he explained for Tony’s benefit.

Fandral made a sound heavy with disbelief. “You think that woman is supposed to be a Jotun? Everyone knows their twisted race boasts no females!”

Thor’s mouth pressed into a line. Silent, out of Fandral’s line of sight, he turned his head to look meaningfully in Tony’s direction.

The pieces clicked together in Tony’s head. He lifted his faceplate so he could meet Thor’s eyes, and give him the raised eyebrows.

Loki was secretly a Frost Giant. Loki also had the habit of turning into a chick on occasion. And Loki did have the tendency to turn up in the strangest places. Ergo…

“You have got to be kidding me,” he muttered, shaking his head the best he could whilst in the confines of the helmet.

Fandral finally turned around and noticed the looks his companions were exchanging. His brow puckered in confusion. “What?”

Thor’s mouth parted as if to speak, then he hesitated as he looked to Fandral and back at Tony again. His face was conflicted, almost distraught as he tried in vain to think of a good explanation. How to offer it seemed logical Loki might be the she-giant dancer without letting the cat out of the bag?

Tony cleared his throat. “You know,” he began, feigning a tone of distracted contemplation, “I realize this might sound crazy, but. Hear me out. That might just be Loki.” He ticked off the points: “We know he can shape-shift. He’s certainly been a girl before. And with his inherent love of…weirdness, maybe he decided to pose as the one female member of a species that isn’t supposed to have them, just for the attention.”

The expression Thor shot him was practically melting off his face in gratitude.

“But, a _Frost Giant_ ,” Fandral stammered, incredulous. “Loki _hates_ them. Even more than the usual. Did you never hear he once tried to destroy their world in an effort to – _cleanse_ them from the galaxy?”

“I did,” Tony said…and now that he really thought about that story, _wow_. There were so many issues on display right there at the surface. “But who knows. It wouldn’t be the first time Loki’s found a way to twist love and hate all around.”

To his credit, he resisted looking directly at Thor.

He finished up, with a shrug, “It couldn’t hurt to check, right?”

“I suppose not,” Thor said in a forcibly even tone. “It’s not as if we have any other clues.”

Fandral’s doubt was still palpable, but he seemed content to follow his appointed leader. “At least we can take in the show, while we’re there.”

The place hosting the dancing girls was actually a fairly nice venue, located not too far from where they were. After a few coins exchanged hands the three were led discretely down a hall, through a velvet curtain into a room that opened up into a wider space than had been anticipated.

The lights were low. They managed to slide in unobtrusively near the door. The room was full of men sitting at small tables, drinking and having a good time. There was a wooden stage along one side of the room, and unseen musicians played a sensuous tune with pipes and a horn, low and sweet. Onstage in a candlelit spotlight a thin blonde with long ears and upturned eyes wiggled back and forth.

Tony kept his helmet up. “I would like it to go on record that I am here because you asked me to be,” he stated, offhand yet precise.

The music stopped and the blonde skipped off to a staccato of whistles and applause. In an unlit corner near the stage a fat man stood up, grin visible even in the gloom as he bellowed his words.

“Gentlemen!” He spread his arms wide, head turning. “And now for what I know many of you came here to see! The headline of tonight’s entertainment presented for your supreme pleasure; the crowning sensual sapphire of Nezzori’s Dancing Darlings; lovely to look upon and talented to behold, you’ll never see her like on this realm or any other – the one, the only, _Throkk!_ ”

More than half the room went nuts, showing far more enthusiasm for an act that hadn’t even started than the one they’d just finished watching. There was an outpouring of shouts, catcalls, whistles and cheers.

The music started up again and this time it wasn’t just pipes and horns. There was the twang of something like a sitar or a dulcimer – one of those funny little stringed instruments Tony could never get right. And there were drums. Pounding steady, low, the pre-electric alternative to turning up the bass.

And onto the stage strutted the dancer that had been named as Throkk, hips swaying in time to the beat.

A small piece of Tony’s mind was aware that if this really did turn out to be Loki, it was going to be kind of awkward.

Baring the occasional misplaced whistle the crowd went silent. Every eye in the place was on the dancer, her toned and lean body beneath the candlelight, dappled shadows flickering against dark blue skin that seemed almost reptilian, broken up by patterns that looked like raised tattoos. Her hair was black, kept off her face by a long braid. And her eyes were a burning crimson red.

Tony didn’t have to look to know Thor was searching her face, trying to see if he could find any recognition there. For his part, Tony wasn’t sure. Throkk’s features were pointed and angular enough, but the blue skin was something of a distraction. Likewise the breasts and hips.

Briefly he pulled his helmet back on and scanned her face, mapping for digital comparison. The suit’s programming accepted the variables and started running the numbers.

It came up with a shiny 97 percent probability match.

“Hey, Thor,” Tony started, taking the helmet off again. But at that very moment the performer started spicing up the routine.

She’d mostly been turning around on stage, waving her arms and undulating a bit. Now she swiftly bent over backwards, struck the floor with her palm – and was lifted back again as she clung to a bar that rose straight up made out of ice.

“Oh, that’s _gotta_ be Loki.” The stripper pole clinched it – who else could’ve come up with that without having paid a few visits to Earth?

But Fandral and Thor didn’t seem to have heard his decisive mutter.

The audience voiced their hearty approval as the dancer moved closer to the pole, sliding down with her back against it, caressing the object suggestively with both hands. She turned and repeated the motion with her front side, arching her upper body and throwing in a head toss for good measure.

Then, in perfect time with the siren call of the music, she hooked one knee around the pole and bent way, way back, hanging off supported by nothing but a single limb. It wasn’t just erotic; it was damned athletically impressive. Tony would know: he’d been asked to guest judge at the International Pole-Dancing Championships a few times.

Loki (yeah; he was going to have to keep reminding himself this was Loki, otherwise it was going to lead to a place really bad) leaned forward and grabbed on with one hand for balance, and then without pause went into a very fast controlled spin, body sliding outwards until the only thing keeping attached to the pole were curled fingers and the curve of one ankle.

“Good lord,” Fandral whispered in what was decidedly aroused awe, eyes wide.

He wasn’t the only one. The seated men were hooting and screaming as Loki dropped gracefully off the pole to lie on the ground, head at almost a lazy angle as the body rolled slowly side to side.

“Nice floorwork,” Tony observed with a note of professional commentary.

Fandral’s eyes slid over to him. “You mean to say…is it actually common for one to be able to watch this sort of performance on Midgard?” His voice warbled.

“Oh yeah, sure. Not always of this caliber, but it’s all over the place.”

“Ah.” He paused. “Do…do you suppose, that the next time I stop by-?”

“My friends.” Thor turned around abruptly, and Fandral immediately clammed up. The prince met both their gazes entreatingly. “My eyes cannot be certain, but in my heart I have a strong feeling that this _is_ my brother.”

Tony couldn’t help finding it a bit bemusing that as he was saying this, ‘his brother’ was in the background gyrating for tips and Thor seemed completely unbothered. Either the big guy was an excellent compartmentalizer or their home family life was even more bizarre than Tony was already aware of.

Well, they could talk about that later. If ever. Probably not. Probably never, in fact. “It isn’t just your gut,” he reassured Thor. “Facial analysis says it’s likelier than not that this is our…uh, guy.”

Thor’s face lit up. “Excellent. We should go and find someplace to wait until we can talk to him after.”

Fandral protested slowly, “What, we’re not going to stay and watch the rest?”

“Yeah,” Tony had to agree, “it seems like kind of a shame. I mean, he’s really working it out there.”

With what at first glance could’ve been called an oblivious grin on his face Thor placed one big hand on each of their shoulders and steered them towards the door, not forceful but with more than enough strength to broker absolutely no room for argument.

“Come along,” he stated with a staunch kind of cheer, seemingly not having heard a word they said.

On second thought maybe he had more awareness than Tony gave him credit for.

*

Back on Asgard, Darcy was trying to mentally prepare herself for another day babysitting what she had come to think of as Jane’s vapid, slutty evil twin.

It was pretty sad, really. She missed the real version of her friend, and felt terrible whatever had happened to her was making her act this way. And frankly, if for no other reason, she should probably stay close just to make sure Jane didn’t say or do anything she would regret later.

But none of that canceled out how it was brain-numbingly aggravating right now being in the same room as her.

She was acting like an amalgamation of the bitchy popular girls and sorority sisters Darcy had absolutely _hated_ throughout high school and college. And here she’d thought the tradeoff for her life being tangled up in supervillains and space aliens was that she’d never have to deal with people like that ever again. If she had to resist the urge to roll her eyes much harder she was going to do serious damage to her retinas.

Not to mention as-is Jane wasn’t exactly being _nice_ to Darcy, or even really seemed to want her around, so Darcy had to keep making up tenuous excuses for being there.

All in all, she really hoped Thor and the others found Loki and got back to Asgard soon.

Taking a deep breath and doing her best to remember what she’d read on the internet once about protecting her “inner calm”, Darcy plastered a smile on her face and walked into the room.

“Hey,” she greeted overly cheerily, using her best ‘girlfriend’ voice, “what’s up? Missed you at breakfast, so I brought you a bowl of fruit, in case you could use a snack-”

She stopped in her tracks the moment she took in the scene in the room.

Jane was seated in a plush high-backed chair at the center of the room, one leg crossed over the other, wearing a slinky shimmering dress that was slit all the way up her thighs. There was a small army of Asgardian men paying audience to her.

Two of them were fanning her. Another was massaging her shoulders. On either side of her one filed her nails while another fed her peeled grapes. And a final one was kneeling on the ground in front of her, literally kissing her foot. Also, none of the men happened to be wearing any shirts.

Darcy’s arms went slack and she almost dropped the bowl she was carrying as she gaped openly.

Jane blinked her eyes, tilting her head up to glance in her direction lazily. “Oh,” she said, careless. “That’s very thoughtful of you, thanks.” She pointed to the stud that was on grape duty. “But as you can see, I’ve already got that taken care of.”

“What the hell is going on in here?” Darcy demanded, disbelieving. “Who… _are_ these guys?” She didn’t even recognize any of them, let alone get what they were doing fawning half-naked all over Jane.

Jane looked around at the harem she had collected. “Hmm. I don’t remember most of their names. Not that it’s important,” she concluded with a smirk.

Darcy’s eyebrows went way, way up. “Not important? You’ve got that one guy practically giving you a pedicure with his mouth, and remembering what to call them isn’t important?” She was trying not to sound disgusted and failing. “What are they even here for?”

Jane gave her a look like _she_ was the one who was being silly. “Why, I thought it was obvious.” She straightened in her chair. “They’re here to serve _me_.” Pulling her hand back she idly examined the job that had been done on her nails. “Treat me with all the respect and adoration I deserve. Surely you can appreciate that?”

Not a single one of the men had spoken. They were all hanging on Jane’s every word, giving her looks that were an equal mixture of come hither and complete subservience.

And yeah, there was a tiny voice inside of Darcy that took in the scene in front of her and went _“fuck yeah!”_ On a certain level it was very emotionally satisfying.

But this was also reality. And in reality, it would’ve been a whole lot cooler if not for two facts: one, the Jane she knew would never do something like this, and two, Jane was supposedly in the midst of _celebrating her engagement to Thor_.

“What are you doing?” Darcy stormed in closer – one of the guys got up to intersect her, and she shoved the forgotten bowl of fruit at his chest, forcing him to take it. “Have you gone nuts? What are you going to do if somebody sees you?”

Jane gave her a severely unimpressed look. “Why should it matter if someone sees me?”

“Um, because last I checked, you’re not exactly unspoken for?”

Speaking of people who were already attached, at that moment Volstagg came into the room bearing a huge platter of sliced meats and cheeses. He walked past Darcy like he didn’t see her, before she could even say anything, and presented the tray to Jane like it was an offering with a witless smile on his face.

“Some sustenance for your approval, milady,” he breathed adoringly. “May it be somehow worthy of both your beauty and favor.”

“Whoa, wait. What?” Darcy exclaimed. “Volstagg, what are you even…why are you doing this?”

Volstagg looked at her blankly, confused. “Is there some reason that I should not? Why shouldn’t I be lavishing praise and whatever offerings I can bring upon such a vision of nigh-holy feminine perfection?”

In silence Darcy took in the tableau. The others all stared back at her, the men with the same blank animal expression, and Jane with one eyebrow lifted in challenge and irritation. They were looking at her like she was the one who wasn’t making any sense here.

“Okay. Is everyone here very stoned?” Darcy raised her arms halfway, shutting her eyes briefly as she tried to focus. “Seriously, _what_ is going on? Jane; you’re happily engaged to these guys’ prince, remember? So, this Chippendale reunion tour you’ve got here is kind of a no-no. And as for these guys, I can’t help noticing that they’re acting exactly like…”

She trailed off in the realization that the glassy, passive looks in their eyes were indeed incredibly familiar. It was the same way Thor had been acting before she’d gotten him to snap out of it.

The slavish obsession, the mindless doting…Darcy’s heart sank in dread. “Oh no,” she said, slowly. So it wasn’t only Thor? Whatever kind of ‘whammy’ was hanging around Jane was contagious to any man?

When she looked back up she found that a few of the men, including Volstagg, had stood and drifted closer placing themselves protectively between her and Jane. Jane remained seated, the look on her face increasingly sour as she gave Darcy a stare that plainly indicated she resented the intrusion.

Well, she could just deal with it. Whether she realized it or not, what Darcy was doing was for her own good.

She gave Jane a defiant look, and then sharply turned to address Volstagg. “Why are you here?”

“Wherever else in all the Nine Realms would I rather be, than here with the one that I adore?” he breathed with full feeling. “Ready to offer myself up in whatever way possible to the fairest, the most goodly, the most divine…”

“Let me stop you right there.” Despite that she knew it wasn’t really his fault, Darcy couldn’t help that her voice was full of disapproval. “Tell me something: does the name _Siún_ ring any bells? No? Just maybe?”

As she pressed her point home Volstagg first looked puzzled, then dismayed.

He blinked dimly and shook his head. With an expression of hearty confusion he glanced to Jane then looked back at where Darcy was waiting with raised eyebrows and a scowl.

He drew up and cleared his throat, halfheartedly trying to save face. “I think I should go now and…find my wife.”

He wandered out, emanating waves of determination and still lingering confusion.

“Yeah,” Darcy remarked as he walked past her, deadpan. “Good call.”

She glanced at the remaining Asgardians but not knowing anything about them she stared at Jane again, challengingly.

Jane met her eyes and with purposeful, stately movements got to her feet and strode over.

“I don’t know exactly who it is you think you are, or what kind of standing you have here,” she murmured, darkly. “But I promise you, you do _not_ want to make an enemy of me.”

“I don’t want to be your enemy,” Darcy agreed, keeping eye contact as she shook her head. “But enough is enough. And if I don’t do something you’re going to screw things up royally.”

Jane gave a dark chuckle and a sneer.

“Believe me, you have no idea what you’re talking about. The only one who’s on the verge of ruining it all, everything that I’ve worked for, is _you_.”

She reached out to grab Darcy’s forearm in one tight, long-nailed fist. Instinctively Darcy flinched back out of reach.

But not before she caught sight of a few dancing green sparks, like static electricity, that jumped from Jane’s skin towards hers.

That little moment was like being hit over the head by a two-by-four.

Darcy stared. “Did…did you just try to use magic on me?” she demanded, feeling herself grow pale and cold with surprise.

Jane pulled her hand back but it was too late. Darcy had seen the way the energy came out and then was called back to her, having witnessed Loki do something similar many a time.

That wasn’t what an enchantment already in effect looked like. That only happened when someone was actively casting a spell.

“Oh my god.” Darcy took a step backward.

“Darcy…” Jane held a hand out to her, voice trying to sound soothing. But it was undermined by the hungry look, a mixture of angry and frightened, in her eyes.

“No. Jane doesn’t know how to use magic.” The bottom dropped out of her stomach and she felt horrifyingly sick. “And there’s no way she just learned, either. You’re…you’re _not Jane_. You’re somebody else!”

An imposter. All this time she’d been trying to take care of her friend, worrying over what had gone wrong with her, when in fact she’d been replaced.

Fake Jane hissed and made another grab for her, more violently this time. Darcy just barely slipped away from her grasp, and turning around gave into her panic and bolted.

She ran out of the room, into the hallway and with the barest glance around to determine there were no possible allies in sight, picked a direction at random and kept on going.

Behind her she heard the sound of the doors being thrown open and didn’t have to look back to know she was being followed.

“Wait! My dear friend, come back here and I can explain!” At first the fake called after her plaintively. But within seconds she dropped the charade when it was clear that wasn’t going to work. “Curse you, you little wretch,” she snarled. “When I get my hands on you…!”

Darcy kept running, unable to stop and catch her breath. Her mind and heart were racing with things she had no time to process.

Later, when it caught up with her, it was not going to be a good time. She felt like such an idiot. But more than that, she felt raw and violated for having been so taken advantage of.

For days on end she had been at a loss over what was making Jane act so weird, so unlike herself. Well, the answer had been in front of her all along: Jane was not herself. She was somebody else. Someone who’d stolen her place, wormed her way in and taken Jane’s face and loved ones and _life_ for their own. And the whole time Darcy had been right there, had sat next to her and talked to her and shared things, intimate things, or at least she had tried.

And it was impossible to tell what was worse. How much of a failure it made her, for not being able to tell the obvious, for not having a clue it wasn’t her own friend. Or how deeply it stung, knowing a stranger had wormed past her defenses and into her confidence with such a nasty trick.

If she really let her brain settle into thinking about it she’d be sick. She’d lose focus and wouldn’t be able to run anymore, and right now that couldn’t happen.

If the Fake Jane, whoever she really was, caught up to her, then that would be the end of it. She’d hypnotize Darcy into playing along, or do something worse and get rid of her altogether.

Oh god, Darcy suddenly thought: where was the _real_ Jane? Where had she been all this time, while this fake was wearing her clothes and kissing her fiancé and pretending to be her? Was she even still alive, or-?

_No,_ Darcy told herself firmly with frightened tears in her eyes. _Don’t even think about that._

She’d worry about figuring out what happened to Jane later. Right now she just had to get away.

Through one corridor and down another she went, stone walls and pillars and tapestries whipping by out of sight, barely noticed. Why was it Asgard was so full of people when you wanted to be alone but so empty when you needed rescuing?

There was a flash of movement up ahead as someone stepped out of a doorway. Lungs aching, Darcy marshaled up her last reserves of strength and flung herself that direction fast as her legs would carry her.

“Help!” she gasped. “Please! You have to hide me! I need help getting away from-!”

What was left of her ragged voice died in her throat as she caught silver flashes of plate armor and a long pale braid and realized she was looking at Freya.

The Shieldmaid stood her ground and watched Darcy with an aloof gaze as the mortal woman reached where she was, steps stumbling and unsteady as she almost fell right over.

“ _You_ ,” Darcy panted, far from thrilled. But beggars couldn’t exactly be choosers. She struggled to speak, chest heaving as she caught her breath. “Can you…help? I think I’m still being followed…”

Freya’s cold eyes were steady and she looked at Darcy with disapproval. “I don’t particularly see why I should.”

Darcy glanced up at her, wide-eyed, then stole a look over her own shoulder in panic. No sign of Fake Jane or her flunkies. But did she maybe hear voices in the distance?

“Lady, what is your problem?” she demanded of Freya, exasperated and desperate, sweat beading on her face. “Is this still about Loki? I’m in trouble, right in front of you and asking for help, and you won’t do it because your sister-in-law hates him?”

Then her eyes refocused on Freya with new suspicion as she thought about the timing. Because how many bad and unconnected things could happen at once?

“Or is this because it has something to do with her?”

Freya shifted her weight, face remaining emotionless as she drew her chin up. It hit Darcy insistently that it was somehow a tell.

“It all comes back to Nanna somehow, doesn’t it? Nanna and her ancient grudge,” Darcy exclaimed. “What did she do to Jane?”

“Lady Nanna never laid a hand on her,” Freya muttered.

“But she’s connected, isn’t she? Somehow she made this happen.” Darcy’s thoughts raced as she tried to figure it out: “What was the plan – get Loki out of the way so he’d be powerless to stop you from ruining his brother’s marriage? Get revenge on the throne by embarrassing them? How petty can you get.”

“Bite your tongue,” Freya snapped out. There was a flash of color, sharp red on the highest part of her pale cheeks, that made Darcy think she’d struck close to home. “There is _nothing_ petty about this. About what happened to Nanna because of Loki. About what was done to our family.”

“No. You’re right, it wasn’t. That was wrong, all of it.” Darcy set her jaw. “But what you’re doing is just as bad. Using tricks and lies to get back at people. It’s nothing more than the worst possible kind of revenge.”

From what she’d experienced with Asgardians, Darcy expected Freya not to listen to a word she was saying. To be condescending and dismissive and angry at best. After all, she was a _goddess_ , and Darcy was only a young and silly human. How could her words carry any weight?

But Freya didn’t respond to her at first. There was rigidness in her posture, a discomfited bend about the line of her mouth.

“And you know I’m right, don’t you,” Darcy realized, peering at her. “I can see it in your face.”

Freya huffed and actually shifted, turning her head as if wary of meeting Darcy’s eyes.

“You’re like some kind of lady knight, right. You stand for things like truth and honor and the good of all people,” Darcy pressed. “You’re supposed to be better than this. And I’m betting it wasn’t your idea.”

“No. It wasn’t,” Freya bit out, shortly. “But that makes no difference. Ultimately it has nothing to do with me. This is my lady’s will.” Her voice was grave, gaze wandering and unfocused as she tried to reassure herself. “I follow her command. _That_ is my duty. That is where my honor resides.”

“‘Just following orders’? _That’s_ your excuse?” Darcy scoffed. “That hasn’t held up since the beginning of time, and much as you try to convince yourself you _know_ it isn’t good enough. What about your family? What about the king of Asgard – aren’t you supposed to be loyal to him, too? And do you think your nephew and brother would be okay with you blindly going along with this; that they’d say you were only doing what you had to do?”

She was certain these were all questions that on some level Freya had already been asking herself. The whole time they’d been on Asgard, while Nanna was bitter and hostile and throwing her weight around, Freya had held back, silent as a ghost. Maybe her only job was to be loyal and subservient and help Nanna get what she wanted, but this couldn’t be sitting well with her. Not if she was half the person Thor and Sif and everyone else had painted her as.

There was definitely the sound of voices behind her, this time – Darcy looked back and thought she saw a shadow moving. From far off against the marble floors the echoing tread of footsteps came.

She stared at Freya again. “Look,” she said, hurried, “no matter what’s happened, you still have a chance to make it right. It’s not too late. And you can start by helping me out here,” she pleaded. “Protect me from these guys. Please!”

Freya drew a breath and didn’t say anything. Stonily she looked at Darcy, considering.

“You have a chance to still be honorable,” Darcy insisted, hoping she wasn’t pressing her luck. “You should take it, before things get too far and there’s no coming back.”

Another few seconds ticked by as Freya kept thinking. Inside Darcy wanted to scream.

At last, slowly, the Shieldmaid nodded.

“Quickly.” She looked past Darcy, checking to see how close the searchers were. “This way. Come with me.”

Darcy breathed a wordless deep sigh of relief, letting Freya take her by the arm and lead her to safety through a hidden doorway.

She shouldn’t let herself get too carried away, she knew. It was only one small victory after a long line of bad events. But it was a victory, nonetheless. And it sparked some hope in her that maybe the tide was turning.

*

While he never let himself forget what his real goals were, that his ‘success’ with the traveling troupe was only a means to an end, the longer his double life went on the more and more Loki threw himself into his performances.

By the end of the night he was quite tired, muscles aching, sleep only just hovering out of reach, ready to steal over him at a moment’s notice.

Back in his tent, he changed into a long dressing gown and with heavy-lidded eyes began working his hair free from a deceptively complicated braid.

He was glad he’d talked Balder into taking an evening off. Reassuring though the presence of his appointed security could be, right now he only wanted to be alone.

Ever since it had become clear their true relation, they had become more open and honest with one another. Balder had more questions than ever he did before and Loki had even more stories to tell. They had come to truly _know_ one another, in a way they clearly never had when they were young.

And while Loki would’ve scarcely believed it for how he remembered despising the other, he found he had become quite…fond of his cousin. That perhaps they could even be considered friends.

Oh, they had little enough in common, despite both possessing a sense of humor and ultimately good intentions. Loki’s sharp tongue and twisted mind stood in counterpoint to Balder’s unfailing honesty and straightforward ways. And yet, they never quarreled, but only sighed and maybe smiled in amusement, accepting the ‘failings’ of the other. Balder was too kind, Loki too impatient, to pick an argument over their vast differences in opinion.

And while it was…nice, Loki couldn’t shake a sense of bewilderment at it all. Balder had been Asgard’s shining star, he it’s unruly shadow. They weren’t supposed to _like_ one another. Their own mythology had as good as branded them mortal enemies.

And even if Balder tolerated Loki, by nature of being Balder, he certainly wasn’t supposed to turn his saintly chivalrous nature Loki’s way and act as his protector. But he had. He’d become aware of Loki as a being with pain, and seemed to want nothing more than to do what he could to soothe it.

Loki regretted having let Balder see so much of his scars – it was more than he’d ever given away of himself to another person, at least all at once. It seemed to have irreparably marked him in Balder’s mind as, if not fragile, then tragic and sympathetic.

But Loki did not want to be _sympathized_ with, and often he rankled under Balder’s well-intentioned hovering.

A little distance was all that was needed to repair the damage, though, whenever he found he was getting sick to death of his cousin. And so impossibly, unfathomably, they continued on.

That night though Loki momentarily regretted not keeping Balder around to ensure his privacy, when he was pulled from gazing unfocused into his vanity mirror by another one of the dancers bursting in.

The girl that threw aside the tent flap was a blond elf with some boring common name Loki couldn’t recall, like Elsie or Bessie, but that preferred to be called “Swan” onstage because she danced with a pair of white-feathered fans.

“Throkk,” she hissed at Loki, “you’ve got some new admirers. Three men that want to see you personally. They’re being very _insistent._ They must want you real bad.”

Loki groaned, annoyed. “Don’t let them come back here,” he instructed her peevishly. It wasn’t the first time this had happened; he was hardly in the mood. Men who came looking for the girls after the show were good for nothing but undesired  fawning and wooing – or hoped that for the right coin a favorite dancer could be persuaded to ‘entertain’ in other ways.

Swan put hands on her bony hips, sucking the inside of her cheek. “I think they’re Asgardian,” she commented with a note of wonder. “One of them even looks like the prince.”

Loki’s fingers went momentarily numb and the hairbrush almost slipped from his grasp.

_Could it be?_ He turned around sharply. “I’ll see them,” he ordered. “Send them back.”

He stood waiting at the center of the tent, having half-prepared himself for disappointment, when the three familiar figures entered: his brother, followed by Fandral the Dashing and the Iron Man.

“Thor,” Loki gasped out in unabashed relief and wonder.

“Brother! It _is_ you,” Thor said triumphantly, face splitting in a warm beam.

Mindless of Loki’s appearance – female, Jotun, half-dressed and hair in a tangle - he approached him with arms spread wide. And Loki was far, far too genuinely happy to retreat into being standoffish. He stepped forward and both accepted and returned the embrace, though he was careful not to let their skin come into direct contact.

Thor gave him a brief, extra tight squeeze before releasing him, as if the weeks they’d been separated had been much longer. “I am so happy we were able to find you!”

When they pulled apart again Loki gazed at him, laughing out his confusion. “How…?”

“It was not easy. And I’m sorry to say, it took us longer to miss you than perhaps it should have. But once we followed your trail Heimdall was able to offer his assistance.”

“But he shouldn’t have been able to.” He paused, swallowing as he prepared himself to give information Thor wouldn’t like hearing revealed. “Thor…the reason I left was because of a promise I made to Lady Nanna. She forced me to go. She wanted me away from Asgard.”

Thor only nodded, grave. “We had already figured out as much for ourselves.”

“It was Sif who thought your one aunt might’ve gotten Heimdall to swear to secrecy,” Tony Stark put in. He was wearing his red and gold armor, but without the helmet, which meant Loki could see the nonchalance on his face when he added, “By the way, great show. Who would’ve thought you could be so, uh, flexible.”

“Or kick nearly so high,” Fandral put in straightforwardly.

Loki’s gaze bounced between the two of them, alarmed, as he’d a belated awful realization.  “You…both of you. You saw?”

“Sure did,” Stark said, bright. “And on as long as we’re on the subject: when _exactly_ between all the supervillain-ing did you learn how to do that? Because this begs a few questions. Not to mention interesting mental images.”

“Of all the people that had to have seen this,” Loki ground out, angry and a bit mortified, “why did it have to be _you?_ ”

“This is not important.” Thor rested a hand on his shoulder, brief, to get his attention. His expression was searching. “Loki; I admit I do not understand. It may have been our aunt’s doing but how did she persuade you into leaving in the first place?”

“It was a deal we struck. I asked what I could do to keep her from ruining your engagement; the only thing that would satisfy her was for me to be gone,” he explained hollowly, bitter. He disliked admitting he had been taken advantage of. “She had the Bifrost send me to Jotunheim, though I was able to quickly escape to Svartalfheim, and upon his honor Heimdall was made to swear he would tell no one where I had gone.”

“Jotunheim,” Thor breathed, quiet. His eyes flashed with anger, understanding what had been intended by forcing Loki to return there. But he moved past it and managed to smile. “Well, oath or no, it was lucky for us Heimdall was able to find a way around his promise.”

Struck by memory Loki gave a wry, dark smile he knew none of them would understand. “Oh, yes,” he chuckled, “he’s quite capable in that regard.”

He shook his head, expression changing when he once again looked at Thor and the others.

“But I never thought that you would come looking for me.”

“It’s not just us,” Fandral informed him with a grin. “Sif and Hogun are here, too. As well as some more of Thor’s Avenger companions!”

“Volstagg would have come as well, I’m sure,” Thor added, “but I preferred him to remain at home where I knew he already wished to be – attending to his newborn son.”

“Siún’s given birth already,” Loki gathered, somewhat numbly. It struck a chord of resentment within him that he had been forced to miss it. “Are they doing well?”

“Yes. Both mother and child are healthy, and Volstagg couldn’t be more happy, or proud.” Thor’s expression rapidly soured. “But I am afraid that isn’t all you have missed out on, brother, and it’s the only part of it that is good news. Many bad tidings are afoot on Asgard. We must return home, and quickly.”

“Indeed we must, but…before we do.” Loki almost laughed again, as he thought of Balder. “There’s something you must see. Brother: I have _quite_ the surprise for you.”

*

Thor and the others’ reaction to seeing Balder, alive again and relatively well, was if possible even more stunned and amazed than Loki’s own. But it was no surprise at all once they got over their astonishment they were incredibly happy to see him.

They crowded around him, clasping his arm and touching fingers to his now pale hair in wonder as they made exclamations. Balder was hailed like a returning prodigal son. And it was agreed unanimously it was a good day for Asgard indeed.

It wasn’t often, after all, that the dead came back to life. Let alone one who had been so honored and loved as Balder.

Balder took it well for the most part, returning their greetings and embraces with a bright smile, though uneasiness still hung over him. He recognized Thor and the others only just barely, and it was arguable whether he even truly remembered them. Instead of feeling relief at finding a place he belonged he acted as if he’d been overwhelmed.

Perhaps out of respect for the others’ obvious happiness he was kind and warm in response. Though while with them repeatedly his eyes sought out Loki’s, as if needing reassurance.

When it was explained what had happened to Balder, how he was still not quite himself, the Asgardians were dismayed but, for their people, relatively understanding. They took Balder’s amnesia, his lack of certainty, his change in appearance, his technical pacifism – and the looks on their faces when they heard that! – and said that him being miraculously alive outweighed it all.

Still, there were already marks in their behavior that showed something like pity. Their voices were quiet when they spoke to Balder, and often they wore sad and placating smiles. Overall they were acting as if Balder was an invalid, or a man whose mind had gone feeble – hardly an auspicious homecoming for the once God of Light.

Loki felt sour, and a bit angry, but it was what he’d already expected. He could only try to ignore the voice that said it was cruelty for him to bring Balder home to such a fate.

“Only imagine the look on Nanna’s face when she sees us returned home,” Fandral exclaimed, unaware to the cloud that hung over Loki’s head. “Just think of it!” He was grinning overtly at the poetic irony of it all. “She sent Loki away to punish him, and here he is returning the favor by bringing her back her son. Now there’s gratitude for you.”

“Yes,” Loki replied, absently. He looked over his shoulder and flinched when he saw Balder standing off to the side talking to the man in the star-marked uniform. “Oh no – who let him near to Steve? That’s a dangerous amount of nobility in such a small space.”

Fandral was also looking at Balder though he didn’t seem to have heard him. “I do hope she’ll be happy, for a change,” he continued, musing. “Only it’s a shame that he’s gotten so very fat.”

Loki’s head twisted around and he stared at him. “What?” he countered, dumbfounded. “What are you talking about? No he hasn’t.”

Fandral gave a less than convinced frown and exchanged a look with Sif and Hogun.

“He is a bit thicker than he was in the old days,” Sif backed him up.

“Definitely more on the pudgy side, now,” Hogun agreed.

“Wha-” Loki’s eyes darted between each of their faces, searching for a sign they were toying with him. Instead they only gazed back in earnest confusion, eyebrows up slightly, as if _he_ were the one being odd. He scoffed, incredulous. “Well, _fine_. If that’s what you’re all convinced of, then so be it.”

The three warriors exchanged another significant look. Loki threw up his hands and walked away, deciding he was done with them in disgust.

Loki had already changed back to his true, male Asgardian form before they had left the confines of the city, and now there was no trace of Throkk to be found anywhere save a politely worded letter of resignation on both her behalf and Balder’s, which would no doubt make Nezzori tear his hair out in despair. The man had probably grown accustomed to the luxurious income his ‘talented sapphire’ afforded him, and would likely come to some outlandish conclusion that the dancer and her bodyguard had run off together, and curse himself for being an overindulgent fool.

Once the group was together again Thor had wanted to summon the Bifrost to leave immediately, but Loki convinced him to wait, for after having been filled in on the happenings in his absence he wasn’t sure that was entirely a good idea.

“We may want to take one of the secret paths home,” Loki explained to him. “It might be better if we don’t announce our return openly.”

“But why? Time is of the essence. Why waste it with these foolish games?”

“It isn’t a game at all. I want you to think for a moment. You say it wasn’t until right after I left that Jane began behaving oddly. That it became as if she was placed under some spell.”

“Yes,” Thor answered, and then was taken aback as he latched onto what Loki was suggesting. “You don’t think that our aunts could’ve had something to do with _that_ as well?”

“They wanted me out of the way. The more I think on it the more I’m convinced there had to be more than a simple reason. No,” Loki murmured, “it would be odder were the two events not connected.”

“But this is outrageous! They had no right to attempt to banish you, and to place some curse on their future queen?” Thor expounded hotly. “It’s almost as good as a direct act against the crown! Why, it’s-”

“Treason?” Loki finished for him, tersely. “Yes, Thor, it is. Which is why we should be very, very careful about coming into Asgard until we know exactly where we stand.”

Thor slumped, arms hanging from his shoulders. “If not by Bifrost, then how are we to go back?”

“Don’t worry.” Loki gave him a sharp-edged smile. “I have something of a plan.”

His long and fruitless search for a tear in Yggdrasil over the past few weeks should’ve made relying on one now seem like a bad idea, but things had changed – Loki had a secret weapon.

Though of the few mortal scientists in his acquaintance now many would scoff at the idea, in his curiosity Loki had made enough study of their work to be aware of the many places where it and his sorcery overlapped.

And Tony Stark had been so kind enough to bring along his marvelous flying suit that could scan across great distances for patterns of energy.

It was only a matter of Loki being able to tell him what to look for.

They made camp for the night in a clearing several miles from the city. While the others took turns standing guard in shifts, Loki and Tony spent most of the hours they should’ve been sleeping working out an equation to translate what Loki needed into data that the armor could scan with its systems. Frequent sarcastic remarks aside, the human inventor threw himself into the process with an excited fervor he had towards most of his projects, and even under duress Loki was more than able to match his enthusiasm.

Over the years Loki had found he and this particular former adversary got along best when they communicated in the language of numbers and discovery.

By morning both were groggy, red-eyed, and many of their companions worse for wear for having slept on the damp and chilly ground. But they had the solution they needed. Stark quickly booted up his armor and took off.

Hawkeye watched his exhaust trail long after he had faded into the distance. “So. What now?” He looked at the motley assembly of Asgardians and Avengers wryly. “Anyone want to play poker until he returns?”

Somehow Thor, Sif, Fandral and Hogun simultaneously came up with the idea to pass the time by interrogating poor Balder some more. Loki would’ve moved to save him, but was stopped by a timely hand on his shoulder.

He turned around to see Captain America smiling at him faintly, cowl draped back over his shoulders. “Hey there, stranger.”

“Steve,” Loki greeted him with belated if genuine warmness, extending a hand for a tight forearm clasp and a pat on the back. “It has been awhile since we’ve seen one another, hasn’t it?” And he’d been so busy they day before the two of them had barely exchanged glances, let alone words.

“Uh, at least a few months.” Steve gave a quiet chuckle. “How have you been?”

“I,” Loki hesitated. He stole another glance at his cousin, worried.

“You’re protective of him, aren’t you?” Steve noted.

“Some might say I have a lot to make up for in concern of his wellbeing,” Loki said, quiet.

“It’s all right, though; I think he can handle himself,” was the mortal’s confident estimation. “I talked to him before. He’s good people. Come on: you and I’ve got some catching up to do.”

A few hours later Iron Man returned and landed semi-gracefully in midst of their gathering.

_“Well. It took some doing,”_ he informed them, visor turning in the direction of Loki. _“But I think I found what you need.”_

Thor and Stark took turns ferrying the rest of the party to the location of the naturally-formed energy bridge, not wanting to wait the time necessary for everyone to walk. Thor brought over Loki first, and by the time the last of the others had arrived he was crouched down with both hands raised, magic flickering between them, caught up in heavy concentration.

“So what’s the verdict?” Steve asked, first to break the silence. “Is it what you were looking for?”

“It is definitely a ripple in Yggdrasil where one can pass through, yes.” Loki’s mouth barely moved as he answered, eyes fixatedly tracking the patterns of the magic.

“So you can use it to take us back to Asgard,” Sif concluded.

Slowly Loki turned his head to look at them all over his shoulder. His mouth split and stretched in a grin that brought to mind his darker days.

“No, not to Asgard, I’m afraid,” he said, bleakly amused. “This one goes to Jotunheim.”

*

In Thor’s estimation, Jotunheim looked no different than the last time he had visited.

The home of the Frost Giants was still to his eyes little more than a frozen waste, with cracked and uneven terrain and howling winds of most biting cold. Uncomfortable, possibly deadly, even to an Asgardian.

As the group stood there shivering, Loki conjured fur pelts from thin air and passed them out. All accepted gratefully, save Stark, who waved the offering away. It seemed cold was yet another thing his fantastic armor protected from.

The mortal took to the air gracefully while the rest of them were still recovering their bearings, and reported he was finding no signs of life in the surrounding area. It seemed they had been jettisoned in yet another of the vast stretches on the world far from any civilization, neither beast nor being wandering within their sight.

Given the nature of the denizens of this particular realm, and the hostile reaction they’d give coming across intruders, it was news for which they should probably be thanking their luck, and only hoping it’d hold.

It seemed universally understood it’d do them little good to linger. They walked with almost no chatter, preferring to save their strength for movement. It was slow going in what felt like a small but continuous battle against the elements.

Jotunheim was a poorly-lit realm to begin with and sight was hampered further by the falling snow. Thor could not tell the difference between one direction and another.

Loki however seemed to know where he was going, and so they followed his lead.

Thor had to confess the plan didn’t make much in the way of sense to him. Going from Svartalfheim to Jotunheim, and then trekking across Jotunheim before returning to Asgard, was a dangerous prospect and certainly would take much longer than summoning the Bifrost. It seemed needlessly complicated, all for the sake of gaining some small element of stealth.

But Loki had been insistent he could get them home in relatively little time, and that this detour through Jotunheim was essential. And Thor had decided to trust his brother.

Whether he gave that trust because he truly felt it in his heart, or out of some lingering sense of guilt, he couldn’t be sure of. But he chose not to examine too thoroughly his reasoning.

As they made their way in a staggered line, Thor’s gaze wandered onto his brother. Loki had taken only the lightest of cloaks himself, and seemed relatively unbothered by the cold. But no doubt their childhood companions hadn’t noticed, or if they did thought nothing of it. Thor thought back to how in their youth Loki had stood immune to cooler temperatures; to times when his skin had been cold, even clammy to the touch.

It was almost odd to look back and think no one had ever wondered, that no questions had ever been asked. How different their lives might’ve been, were Loki’s secret uncovered early? Would it have spared them the pain of their later years – or it would it have only caused Loki meeting a much worse fate?

But it did no good, questioning the past.

“How much farther?” Rogers called out, raising his voice against the scrape of the frigid air.

“Shouldn’t be long.” Loki stopped, turning sideways so he could face them and be heard clearly without having to yell. “I’ve a more than passing familiarity with this area.” He started walking again, slowly at first, then making his stride longer so the others were forced to keep moving and follow him up the slope he climbed. “There should be a small cave, a few hours north of here. There’s a ripple there that will take us to Asgard.”

“You’ve been this way before,” Fandral remarked. “Are we tracing back the route you followed all those weeks ago?”

Loki didn’t stop, didn’t turn. “No.”

Thor faltered, touched at once by grim knowledge, but said nothing. He found he didn’t have to at the looks dawning on Sif, Hogun and Fandral’s faces.

“The attack before Thor’s coronation,” Hogun realized, “when you led the Giants into the lowest vault. This is the way that you showed them.”

“Yes.” Loki’s shoulders were raised, stiff and close by his ears, when he stole another glance back at them. “And a good thing I did too, wouldn’t you say, since it does us so much benefit now.”

There was a note of challenge, almost haughty, to Loki’s tone.

But underneath Thor heard what he suspected no one else would: that Loki was tired.

It was an old wound – maybe not comparatively so, in the length of their lives, but one their group of immediate friends was supposed to have dealt with and moved past by now. But the three warriors had fallen silent, and one could see the traces of anger trying to surface in their expressions. It was hard to ignore, and equally hard to fault them for it: this reminder of what they considered Loki’s first betrayal.

Barton spoke up, and Thor got the distinct sense he was trying to change the subject. “If I understand what you’re saying right, we’re going to be ending up inside some kind of treasury, then? Are we going to have any problems breaking out of it?”

“We should not. The guards certainly will not attack us, and the magical defenses are designed only to activate against a threat to Asgard,” Thor said helpfully.

“And it will save us time by bringing us already within the palace,” Sif added, begrudgingly.

They made it over the slanting terrain and at the top found themselves at the beginning of a flat, even expanse. Continuing their walk they began to notice when the torrent of frigid snow yielded.

Fandral tilted his head back, beaming cheerfully at the turn of events. “Well, then. Finally.” He spread his arms and chortled. “That makes things _far_ less unpleasant, then, wouldn’t you say-?”

His words died as he looked forward and the color drained from his face. Instinctive alarm went through the group and hands reached for weapons as they took in what the cleared-away haze revealed: they were not alone.

Straight in front of their party and staring directly at them were a dozen Jotun.

The Asgardians reacted mostly with battle-hardened determination; the mortals with the same tinged by varying degrees of surprise, since it was the first any of them had actually seen this particular race.

Barton silently drew his bow taut and Rogers let out a gentlemanly curse, and from behind them Stark was heard to mutter distantly, _“Oh, right…Frost_ Giants _.”_

Even though Thor immediately hefted Mjolnir high in his fist, as he gazed across the short distance between them he tried to think what to say: how to convey to the Jotun there need be no quarrel if only they would stand down and let them pass.

But there was no chance to speak. Too quickly the Jotun identified what they were looking at, and hate bloomed in their expressions. They rushed forward with snarls and frozen weapons forming on their hands to attack.

Before the two sides even reached each other an initial volley was exchanged. Barton’s first arrow landed with perfect accuracy in the joint of one Jotun’s shoulder, but the giant shrugged off the blow with little more than a growl of pain. The archer swiftly reloaded and took aim at another enemy, this time choosing a knee as a target, and got more of a reaction as the wounded individual howled and dropped to one leg. Stark launched a barrage of both projectiles and energy blasts from his gauntlets, but the Jotun proved unnervingly good at smacking the smaller weapons out of the sky, and bullets did them no damage. And Loki hurled from his fist a twisting acid-green spell; it hit one giant square in the chest and wrapped around his throat like a snake, choking him, and then when it brought him to his knees leaped higher to tear into his face.

Thor thought he identified the leader of the Jotun’s group by his square helmet and the broad shoulder-pads of his frozen armor. He picked the warrior directly to the left of that one and threw Mjolnir at him, striking him in the center of his torso with full force and knocking him down and back, out of the fight. With a gesture the hammer flew back to Thor’s waiting fist.

By then the Jotun had about reached where they were standing and his band of friends had run forward the last distance to meet them. Hogun and Fandral worked in a team, taunting and distracting a single target until they could trip him and bring him low, where their weapons might be of some use. Rogers hurled his shield as a discus, ricocheting off two warriors and wounding them both in the process, the object returning to him in time for him to smash a nearer giant in his outstretched hands. Balder stayed near the edge of the fray, making small advances with his blade.

The Jotun roared in renewed fury. They slashed and hacked at their smaller foes with the icy extensions of their arms, shaped into cutlasses and maces and pickaxes.

Sif crouched low behind her shield, keeping it raised before her face with one hand, while she used her glaive to stab upward at a distance. “Do not let their hands make contact!” she called to the mortals in warning.

“Got it. Thanks,” Barton huffed. Dancing and weaving to avoid giants reaching down for him with curled claws, he fired off another arrow – the telltale flickering of a tiny light on its shaft gave it away as an explosive.

It landed in the snow, point-first. A nearby Jotun snatched it up with a mean grin, likely mistaking a failure on the human’s part and intending to use it as a spear. It detonated right in his face.

Thor found himself surrounded by a cluster of Frost Giants and fought furiously to get clear, pummeling them with his hammer. Nearby Rogers found himself in a similar situation and the two wordlessly worked their way in each other’s direction so they could fight together.

As they stood back to back, with some effort besting the larger opponents, the Captain called to him stridently, “Thor! What’s the play here?”

He understood what his friend was asking. The Jotun were enemies of Asgard, and they attacked first…but the Avengers were warriors of decency. Thor set his mouth, considering.

“Fight to wound, only!” he yelled out, loud enough so all could hear him. “We are under a treaty with these people!”

Rogers nodded in understanding, too winded to speak. But he sent one giant staggering with a gloved fist undercut to his jaw, then using his opponent’s shoulder as a fulcrum leapt up and over, making another flying leap to kick a standing giant while simultaneously concussing another with his shield.

Momentarily clear, Thor caught his breath, tightening his grip on Mjolnir as he turned to seek another foe.

What he saw instead was Loki using a staff he must have summoned to attack a giant viciously. His brother’s teeth were bared as he swung with brutal force then stomped on the Jotun’s chest with his boot after the other was already down. He jabbed the staff’s end into the giant, jolting with sparks of manic green energy that drew agonized cries, wanting to make the end as painful as possible.

The sorcerer-prince was clearly not holding back to wound. His intentions were fatal.

“Loki!” Thor shouted at him, as much warning as an order. Loki relinquished his hold and pulled back, leaving the Jotun gasping and writhing but for the moment still alive.

The look he shot Thor’s direction was far from apologetic: a withering scowl full of disdain and resentment, eyes agleam with a hollow, sinister drive. Thor clutched Mjolnir tighter and for a horrifying moment found himself sketching an attack against Loki, having been thrown back in time to a point when his brother was a dangerous enemy.

A startled shout from one of their allies distracted both of them. The Jotun had started using their power over the terrain against them, summoning up long deadly spikes of ice at unpredictable intervals. There were several close calls as the others jumped out of the way in the nick of time.

Balder leapt out of the way of being impaled with surprising agility. A giant tried to seize him by the edge of his cape, but he shook it off, using both shield and sword against his attacker while skillfully avoiding the risk of doing any mortal injury.

Sif found herself suddenly surrounded, caged in by a ring of ice to her back and attacking Jotun to her front. Loki went to aid her with his throwing knives.

Stark had until this point been doing an excellent job flying overhead and shooting the Jotun with blasts from his gauntlets, the heat doing almost as much damage as the repulsive force. A giant suddenly managed to grab him, wrapping both hands around with a vicious fervor as it coated him in ice.

The armor’s surface made this a difficult task, however.

_“What’s the matter, Jack Frost? Never seen a guy wearing an ice-resistant gold alloy befor-”_

Stark was cut off mid-taunt as in frustration the giant swatted him to the ground. Both Hogun and Rogers rushed to their fallen ally, pulling him out of the snow and helping him to his feet.

Thor had had enough – it was time to end this battle. Half the Jotun were down, either senseless or too injured, and many of those still fighting were showing signs that their energy was beginning to flag. With his hammer he pounded the ground, cracking open the ice and knocking down a few more with the vibration. Spinning about, his eyes landed on the leader.

Taking advantage of the distraction he raced forward and tackled the Jotun to the ground. Kneeling atop the other, keeping him pinned, Thor then wrenched up one of the ice spikes by the root and with both hands pressed it down on the leader’s throat.

“ _Yield_ ,” he demanded in a bellow. The Jotun struggled, but he pushed him back down. “You have lost this fight! Yield, and we will have no reason to do further damage to any of your people!”

The Jotun snarled at him, but begrudgingly twisted his head to address his men. “Stand down,” he barked.

The Frost Giants pulled back, nursing their wounds and muttering. Thor didn’t risk looking away, but as best he could moved his eyes to see how the others were doing.

Barton was helping Fandral wrap a wound on his arm, the latter boasting a deep gash of his own across one shoulder. Loki knelt beside a pale and quiet Sif, healing some injury, while Balder hovered over them both. Hogun and Rogers walked with the Man of Iron slung between them, one arm held across each their shoulders.

_“That was fun,”_ Stark was saying, woozily. _“A real blast. They should consider putting that ride in at Universal.”_

“Tony, shut up,” Rogers told him, not unkindly. “Save your strength.”

_“I’m hearing ringing. Is…does anyone else hear ringing?”_

A low growl from the Jotun leader caught Thor’s attention again, and he shoved at him once more.

“There was no need for you to attack us,” he told the Jotun reproachfully. “We are in your land but by accident, and mean you no harm.”

The Jotun gave a derisive laugh. “No harm?” he repeated in his hissing, craggy voice. “Your war-loving race always means harm to ours. Peace between us can only be but a farce.”

“Nonetheless it is a peace we have.” Thor tried not to sound too begrudging as he continued, “I understand why it might be hard to trust our people given the history-”

“History has nothing to do with it. Unless you consider turning the Bifrost to rip apart our world a few scant years ago an event of _history_.”

Thor stole a guilty look towards his brother. But there was not an ounce of expression on Loki’s face.

“It was an act perhaps poorly-done. But reparations had to be made for your ruler’s attempt to slay ours,” Thor told the Jotun, feeling obligated to stick with the “official” story.

The first world Asgard had visited once the Bifrost was fully repaired was Jotunheim. In the time that passed since Laufey’s death and the devastation that’d been wrought, they found a realm barely recovered from its damages and full of a cold if impotent bitterness, teetering on the bridge of anarchy. The king had left no clear instructions as to his heir, and his two sons that made a claim for the throne both had detractors that considered them unsuitable. The Jotun had barely avoided a civil war.

Apologies and amends had been offered by the All-Father, and a new truce forged. But it’d been unmistakable at the time that Jotunheim only accepted because they felt they had no choice, being in no position and without resources to wage a new war.

From beneath Thor’s grasp the Jotun leader gathered the breath to sneer at him. “You make your excuses, Odinson, but the posturing of your self-righteous world fools _no one_. Our king attempted to kill yours, and he was slain. You had your revenge the minute he was struck down. But still you turned your magic on our world in a show of superiority, destroying our cities and killing innocents.”

In dismay Thor pulled back, turning to glance at his friends.

Loki’s expression was still unreadable, aloof to the point of seeming cruel. Sif, Hogun and Fandral were hardened, eyes fierce: but of course they’d been raised to never doubt the actions of their own world over that of a Jotun. Balder seemed to be taking it with a more open mind, for he was frowning and his eyes were wide.

What Thor was most conscious of, feeling the sting of shame, was uncertainty over how the mortals would take this reflection on his home. Stark’s face was hidden, and Barton’s face was almost as blank as the Iron Man’s mask, betrayed only by a slight furrow to his brow. Rogers’ expression boasted more obvious displeasure, but at least for the moment he was holding his tongue, seeming to understand this was no time to voice his opinion.

The Jotun continued, “It gives you satisfaction to see us brought low. Instead of merely destroying us, you leave us crumbling, barely clinging to survival.”

“That isn’t so!” Thor protested. “In light of what happened the All-Father tried to be generous, but-”

“ _Generous_.” The Jotun snorted. “He singlehandedly guaranteed our people are going nowhere, without a leader.”

“You have two,” was Thor’s retort. “Laufey’s heirs agreed to share the throne, and between them-”

“Either you are being mocking, or you know nothing of Laufey’s _heirs_. Helblindi has a temper so strong and unpredictable as to appear a madman, and Býleistr is a dullard, an inbred fool. And each would gladly murder the other – they only very begrudgingly share power because they know it’s the only way to curry enough favor to hold a throne between them.”

Thor couldn’t think of reply to make to this, for it was news to him.

“Jotunheim’s future,” the warrior breathed, “will be brightest once the kingship falls to a new line. Once someone gathers enough strength, and an army, to seize the throne away from the unworthy hands that now hold it.”

“A political coupe,” Barton commented, sardonic. “Yeah, that’s always what a struggling country needs.”

“More infighting that further divides any resources,” Rogers chimed in. He gave the Jotun on the ground a pointed look. “I get the feeling you’d like to elect yourself to the job.”

Thor fixed the Jotun with a glower of renewed fervor, not having realized he held a would-be usurper in his grasp. “Is this true, giant?” he demanded.

This one was obviously no friend to Asgard, and a warmonger. If somehow he was successful in his bid to claim the throne, it could spell trouble for them later down the line.

But the Jotun’s expression remained defiant, callous. “What if it is, Asgardian? Will you interfere further in the dealings of a world your people _claim_ to have no desire to conquer, and slay me?”

The blow landed successfully – uncertain though his feelings were, Thor knew he could do nothing without naming himself hypocrite. He climbed off the Jotun but kept Mjolnir pointed in the direction of his throat.

“We have no quarrel with you today,” he stated, firm. “I give you but one chance to leave without further incident.”

The Jotun’s burning resentment was clear, but he knew that he had been overpowered. He got to his feet and gathering up his troops they fled the area.

Their mixed band of Asgardians and mortals remained silent as they watched the giants trudge off, until they were well out of sight.

It was Loki who spoke first – subdued but composed, as if nothing had happened. “The cave is not far now.” He pointed. “You can but glimpse it, if you look that way.”

Thor fixed him with a heated gaze. “It will keep, for the moment.”

Loki thinly swallowed but put on a look of perplexed misunderstanding. “But surely it’s unwise to linger with our destination so close at hand.”

“And I say thee again, nay.” Thor turned to catch his friends in a sweeping gaze. “If you will but pardon me, I would have a word with my brother.”

It was Rogers who instantly backed him. “Right,” he said, understanding. “We can wait for you at the cave.” He began herding the others away. “Come on, guys. Let’s give them some privacy.”

Stark was in no place to object, and the others were mostly accustomed to following Thor’s orders. Balder alone looked as though he might argue – he met Loki’s eyes, and the other gave a wordless shake of his head. And so their cousin yielded and went along with the rest.

At first it was but the two of them, and silence broken only by the low whistle of the wind.

Loki gazed off into space and kept turned aside so Thor saw his face in profile. “So what now?” He laughed, mocking. “Will my wise and worldly elder brother instruct me in how _wrong_ of me it was to attack these noble beasts?”

Thor folded his arms. His voice was quiet. “They don’t even realize you exist, you know.”

It was a far cry from what Loki had been expecting. His disdain fell and he looked to Thor with open bewilderment. “What?”

“The Jotun. They only know of you as a former ruler of Asgard. They’ve no idea that Laufey had another son, or if they did they must assume him to be dead.” Thor drew a breath as his brother’s eyes narrowed. “They do not know that you are Laufey’s firstborn, and that it is your right to-”

“No,” Loki cut him off, curt.

“If you could make a strong claim for the throne, think what could be gained. Jotunheim could benefit from a strong leader, and these hostilities would cease.” He gestured with Mjolnir. “What would either realm stand to gain from another war?”

“I imagine the Jotun think they could recover some sense of pride,” was Loki’s response, toneless. “One that will hardly be earned by accepting as their leader a _runt_ , abandoned, and tainted by Asgard.”

Thor gazed at him with an expression that was almost pleading. He did not wish to cast Loki off, but…it seemed a chance to do many the greater good. And Loki could be a _good_ king, he had it in him; he was smart, and powerful, and more than cunning enough for politics and diplomacy.

“You feel nothing for their plight? I thought you had learned. But you still find ways to think others beneath you. Loki, these are your people-”

“They are _not_ ,” Loki interrupted with a viciousness. “They are nothing to me! I was taken from this realm when I was too young to remember; I owe it no allegiances.” He broke eye contact, retreating to a mutter. “I may never be able to cast off the poison that is in my blood, but I’ve no desire to embrace it. I know nothing of the ways of this race, and I do not wish to learn.”

“But you _could_ know them,” Thor pressed. “Don’t you see? Laufey has two other sons – you have _brothers_ that you have never met.” Loki bristled.

“And glad am I to keep it that way. I’ve but one brother, and he keeps my hands full enough. Or are you in such a hurry to disown me?”

Thor’s heart sank. “That was not at all what I was trying to say,” he protested, feebly.

He expected Loki to berate him further, but his brother instead was quiet. He waited until the tension had abated from the air before he looked at Thor again, repressing a sigh.

“Well-guided though you may think your intentions, I have no interest in helping Jotunheim. I have no interest in Jotunheim at _all_. It’s not my world, it will never be my home – all that I want for is Asgard.” He met Thor’s eyes wide, and there was something wounded in them that didn’t seem feigned. “I pledged loyalty again to that throne, and swore to protect our family. Do you doubt my interests?”

“No.” Thor’s reply was swift, but his voice trailed off in remembrance. “Not now. Not in this…”

His head dropped, looking to the white ground beneath his feet. Loki was watching, waiting for him to speak. Thor forced himself to meet his brother’s eyes, burdened by guilt as he made his confession.

“When you disappeared from Asgard, I did not know something had befallen you. Not for certain. I thought you might’ve run.”

“You doubted me, and wondered whether I should be trusted.” Loki shocked him by laughing; “Good for you. So you _are_ learning. At least a little.”

Thor stared at him, both confused and appalled. Loki shook his head with a rueful smile.

“Touching that your continued faith is, brother, I would rather you _know_ me. It would mean so much more to me than your noble unwavering support.”

“But I do know you,” Thor insisted. “I have known you for years.”

“And I’ve changed. And so have you.” Loki circled back to sit on a small flat rock that jutted jarringly out of the otherwise unbroken landscape. He sighed again, looking down at his clasped hands. “I know you mean well, Thor, but at times it feels like you are smothering me.”

“How so?” Thor moved closer to him. Loki gave him a half-lidded look that was reproving.

“You know how. You, our mother, our father…all of you constantly watch, waiting for me to fall again.”

“No! And if we did do such a thing, it would not be out of chastisement! We worry for you. You are still not yourself.”

“And who is that?” Loki sat up straight. “The man that I was before? He’s gone. You’re never getting him back. It’s a waste of time to be waiting for him.” He swallowed. “I will always be shadowed. I will always be…unwell. I can only try to be a little bit better. And I _do_ try. But I can’t change back for you.”

Thor wanted bitterly to argue but found his words dying in his throat. No; his brother was right when he said they both had changed. It was painful to think on. But for what they’d both lost in innocence he hoped they had ultimately gained the ability to be better for it.

“I think,” he tried, careful, “we are wary of history repeating itself. When you pull away, it’s too easy to imagine you nursing a hurt in secret, and we only want to help by stopping a wrong before it starts.”

He had a brother again – their parents had both their children. That _wholeness_ felt all the more precious for how it had once been broken.

Earnestly, Thor told him, “I would never forgive myself if I ruined what we have now by making the same mistakes.”

Loki managed to give him a smile. “They weren’t only _your_ mistakes,” he reminded him. “You must have faith in me not to repeat any of mine, either. How are we ever to be happy if we live in constant pressure and fear?”

Thor gave a sigh of his own, and returned the smile, weakly. “I know,” he admitted. “I just want everything to be perfect.”

“Perfect? Never.” Loki got back to his feet. “Thor, we are _family_. There will always be grudges, and secrets, and fights. If you can’t understand that then truly, you are lost.”

That statement too, had a powerful ring of truth to it. But instead of prompting Thor to agree, it only reminded him of something. He frowned deeply, thinking.

“What? What is it?”

“The…discussion that we had, Loki, shortly before you left,” Thor began. “About my engagement.”

“You mean the argument,” his brother corrected him with almost comical patience. “We had an argument. Brothers argue.”

“Yes. Fine. As you say,” Thor agreed just a little too sharply, prompting Loki to fall silent. “Was I wrong in thinking you were trying to talk me out of this? That you do not want me married to Jane?”

Loki pressed his mouth into a line. “It’s not the woman herself, precisely, that I object to,” he replied cagily.

“Then what?” Thor demanded. Loki had had cruel words about Jane in the past – but that was when they had still been enemies. He would’ve thought by now his brother would’ve at _least_ learned to tolerate her. “Do you not want me to get married? You know that I love her.”

“I know,” Loki replied, soft.

“Then what else would you have me do?” He was growing aggravated in spite of himself. “Do you really dislike Jane so much?”

“I told you I’ve no objection to her. I already said as much. I only don’t think-”

“Don’t think that it’s a good idea. Yes, you said that before too, when we first talked of this!”

“And you grew angry at me then, the same as you are now, and refused to listen to what I was trying to tell you,” Loki noted, tartly. “If you want to know the truth then, yes, I confess I am trying to make you reconsider your engagement. But not for the reasons you presume.”

“Then _what?_ ” Thor cried.

“I only want you to stop and think,” Loki insisted slowly, seriously. “She’s mortal, Thor. Have you considered what that will mean?”

Thor eyed him. “Do you think her _beneath_ me?” he asked stiffly. “Will it be hard to accept her as your queen?”

“Oh, for Ymir’s sake!” Loki was desperately exasperated. “Do you remember what happened to the Valkyries?” It seemed an odd thing to bring up – Thor just stared at him, so Loki continued. “They were mortal women too, brought to live on Asgard among Asgardians, and fed golden apples to increase their longevity. Some of them married Asgardian men, and had half-Asgardian children. But are there any of them left now?”

“No,” Thor answered, blankly, “they-”

“They grew old. Even with the gift of the apples, they aged far faster than us. They withered, they faded. And eventually they died of old age.” Loki gazed at him, his face hard. “And that is what will happen to your true love as well.”

Thor was unnerved by his brother’s expression. But he twisted his head, and tried to shake it off. “I am no fool, Loki. I know that no magic in all the Nine Realms will ever make Jane anything but mortal. I have accepted that. I wouldn’t _want_ to change her, even if I could.”

“You say that but I doubt you have really thought about it,” Loki countered. “You’ll have many years together, hundreds, thousands maybe, and then what? She’ll age right in front of you. You’ll watch her die.”

“Loki, _stop_ ,” Thor ordered. But his brother refused to heed him.

“You’ll outlive her. Asgard will have a widower for a king. And what of your heirs? What if they favor her bloodline, and the apples and your strength isn’t enough? They might die before they even make it to the throne. You’ll outlive your own children.” Loki’s voice turned briefly bitter: “Ask our aunt if you think that an easy pain to bear.”

“Enough,” Thor broke in, and this time he was sharp enough that Loki listened to him. “Why are you taunting me with this?” he demanded, pained.

“I am not _taunting_ you. But this is my point exactly,” Loki breathed in fervor. “I’m only trying to spare you this suffering.”

It took Thor a moment to be able to respond. He swayed slightly, a burning knot inside his throat, at the thought of the future Loki promised him. The way his brother painted it, it sounded so bleak.

“But what of how we both would suffer, were I to send Jane away?” he asked.

Loki looked back at him stonily, and for all his resolution Thor knew he didn’t have an answer.

He took another breath, regaining his composure before he continued to speak. “You are not wrong, in what you say. Someday Jane will die. It will undoubtedly be before me. Any children that we may have might as well.” He shook his head, eyes shining. “I will mourn her, and for a while I will be lost. But before that happens we will have a lifetime of happiness together. Is that not worth any pain?”

Loki remained silent. Thor could see his throat working, the lights of his eyes flickering uneasily.

“Everything ends. In life, there is always joy before there is sorrow,” Thor declared. “You must risk one in order to experience the other.”

“But why risk it?” Loki broke in, sounding despondent. “Why take any chance at all?”

“You surprise me. I had thought you more bold than that,” Thor chided him, gentle, but then his voice grew bittersweet. “But it is true, that this is what at times worries me about you, brother. You are too afraid of pain – of letting your heart be wounded. You would rather live an empty life, then expose yourself to happiness and then risk losing it. But think of all you would miss!”

He clasped Loki firmly at the back of the neck, drawing the other to him. There was a conflicted look on Loki’s face. He seemed almost too afraid to speak.

“I was only trying to look out for you,” he repeated at last. “I swear it was my only thought.”

“I know,” Thor said kindly. “And I thank you for it. But this is one decision that I can only make for myself. Even with the consequences, I still choose Jane Foster.”

And it did occur to Thor, to mention that Loki was also in love with a mortal woman. But he thought better of it. Besides, considering the way his brother’s thoughts tended to twist around, it was entirely possible that Darcy was already on Loki’s mind; that maybe even the concern he spoke of had more to do with himself than with Thor.

“I suppose,” Loki concluded slowly, eyes drifting upward with the hooded glint reserved only for his deepest thoughts, “that it does take a kind of bravery to love.”

“Nonsense.” Thor let his hand drop. “It is the most natural thing in the world!”

Loki gave a quiet, annoyed chuckle. “Of course it is. For you.”

Thor shook his head with an unconcerned smile. “Come. I think we’ve talked long enough, and hopefully said what needed saying. It’s time to return to those we care about and that wait for us.”

It had been long enough an adventure for Thor, and even longer still for Loki. Their friends and family were waiting – and, assuming things hadn’t somehow resolved themselves on Asgard, needed them.

He reached out again, this time to give Loki’s shoulder a brief squeeze. “Let’s go home.”

*

In the wake of their leaving Jotunheim, neither Thor nor Loki nor any of the others spared a thought for the band of giants they had rousted.

If pressed to the point, they would’ve assumed the Jotun warriors had long gone, moved off to some other locale and entirely new if unknown destination. That after having been defeated the giants would mutter amongst themselves and nurse their wounds and never look back.

In this they would have been completely mistaken.

Perhaps half an hour after the heroes had left the realm, the Frost Giants came back. In sharp-eyed silence they marched, armed with clubs and icy swords, their leader at the forefront.

Hate-filled and arrogant though he was, the Jotun was no fool. The appearance of a group of Asgardians travelling through their realm, openly defying the truce and risking reprisal, was hardly unremarkable.

Their people were, after all, so blind and stupid with loyalty. If they were poking around Jotunheim, out here in the middle of nowhere, then there had to be a reason.

He and his men returned once enough time had passed they deemed it safe, and started searching the area.

It didn’t take them long to find the cave.

And once that had done, it took them even less time to notice at the very back of it where there should have been nothing but an icy stone wall, something…wavered. _Glistened._

The leader of the Jotun crept forward, hand outstretched cautiously. As soon as his long black-tipped fingers met the dancing wave of energy he pulled them back.

 And grinned. Horribly.

No sorcerer or scholar was he, but it took hardly a passing knowledge of magics to understand what he was looking at. And it took very little creativity to guess where this pathway probably led.

“Asgard,” the giant breathed in a mean hiss, red eyes narrowing at the promise of invasion – power, glory, vengeance.

Blood.


	7. The Death of King Arthur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. It wasn't even remotely my intention for my writing to such a trudging chapter a month pace these last two parts, but clearly the holidays kept me a lot busier and distracted than I anticipated.
> 
> At least we're at the end now. (Of this story, I mean. Not of this series.)

As Thor had described the strange way he’d felt while under the affliction of whatever curse had befallen Jane – detached euphoria, an overwhelming sense of devotion and physical attraction, inability to concentrate – the first thing Loki thought of was Amora.

The second thought Loki had was that he was a fool.

He’d seen the sorceress very early on, long before she could’ve had the chance to enact any scheming. She good as promised to make trouble and knowing her like he did Loki should’ve had his eye out. He should’ve seen whatever it was coming from a mile away.

But for once in his life, Loki had dropped the ball. Problems had mounted, and while certainly capable of looking in more than one direction simultaneously, the grave nature of his family’s troubles distracted him. Nanna and the amount of malice she exposed, the alarming rate at which the danger she posed had rapidly increased, stole his attentions. Loki forgot about Amora completely.

That was a terrible mistake. Clearly Amora had only been waiting for the right moment. For the right ally to open a door.

He was more convinced than ever everything was somehow connected. It would’ve been unthinkable to most that a woman of their aunt’s rank would ever consort with a known traitor like Amora, but Loki wouldn’t put any possibility out of his mind.

He knew desperation was capable of twisting many into becoming strange creatures.

Luckily even while Thor was be-spelled and otherwise ‘occupied’, and Loki gone away, their friends had still paid attention to the palace news. At the mention of Amora’s name they were able to report that the Enchantress had been spotted weeks ago and captured, kept imprisoned in near-isolation to await the All-Father’s justice once the engagement festivities had ceased.

She must have become much stronger than Loki would’ve predicted, to keep her magic active from within a dungeon cell. And to have the kind of forethought for such a scheme showed frankly more cleverness on her part than he’d have thought.

But no matter. He would go to the harlot straight away and figure out what it was she had done and how he could reverse it. Amora would confess her sins, whether or not she cooperated. In fact, he strongly hoped that she didn’t.

He’d warned her to leave Thor alone; that something _severe_ awaited her at his hands if she failed to listen. Loki fully intended to live up to his promise.

But all things in proper order. He and the rest had to get back to Asgard, first.

Their entire group made it through the magical passageway he’d opened together and unscathed. They found themselves in the middle of the long dark confines of the vault containing the most dangerous treasures Odin had collected, surrounded by the recessed hallways and severe staircase that rose high overhead as the only way out.

Even knowing it was safe there was a tension over the warriors of Asgard. Both Sif and Fandral stole looks to the grate that held back the Destroyer.

But sensing no hostile enemies or would-be thieves the sentinel failed to move from its hidden stance.

The ominous room had noticeable effect on the mortals as well. Stark’s face remained hidden, partially propped up by Hogun, but Barton had his bow and an arrow at the ready as he took up a guarding stance and peered into corners, and Rogers’ expression was wary while he looked around.

For his part, Loki turned behind him to the stone plinth that once held the enchanted Casket of Jotunheim. The space was now occupied by a trophy he himself had captured – the blade weapon of the witch named Selene Kinslayer, bound up in ugly black chains – but he barely spared a thought for what his eyes moved over, caught as he was in recollections of the past.

The last time he’d come down here…it seemed like so long ago.

This place held no good memories. The giants he had used and soldiers he had sacrificed to ruin Thor’s coronation. The order he had given the Destroyer to murder his own kin.

And perhaps easily worst of all, when he placed his hands on the Winter Casket and watched his skin warp and twist, learning the terrible truth – the moment when he had lost everything.

No matter whatever else became of him, the anguish he felt that day would never fade completely.

Steve had finished surveying the area and moved closer beside him. “Hey,” he remarked gently, taking note of Loki’s expression, “are you okay?”

Loki put a thin smile onto his face and hid what he was feeling. He lied, “Home always looks different after you’ve been away.”

The soldier nodded with understanding, and reached out a hand, putting it on Loki’s shoulder in an intended gesture of encouragement. “Right.”

Loki turned and put his back to the corner of the room that had held the very beginnings of his despair. “We shouldn’t waste time. The sooner Amora is routed, the sooner all can be made right.”

“The sooner Lady Jane can be put back to being her true self,” Thor added more softly. He took stock of their present companions and frowned over the Iron Man’s state. “You should be taken to the healing room, friend Stark,” he said with concern. “There should be no need for you in the fight to come.”

_“What? Come on, I’m fine,”_ the mortal insisted, though even in his complaints he sounded notably out of breath. _“Down but hardly out. I can probably take out what’s-her-face with one arm tied behind my back.”_

“The Enchantress should not be underestimated.” Sif cast the princes a loaded glance. “Especially when it comes to her manipulative wiles in using men.”

_“Ri-ight.”_ Stark flipped up his helmet, suddenly looking and sounding far more aware and canny than he had a moment before as he fixated, knowingly, on Thor and Loki. “So which one of you two highly eligible Visigoth bachelors slept with her, back in the day?”

Loki kept his own face perfectly stiff. Thor was much more awkward as a rush of angry color flooded his cheeks.

Unfortunately, apparently both looks spoke loudly in their own ways, and Stark’s eyes flashed with realization.

“My god. You _both_ did.” He clucked his tongue as if scolding naughty schoolchildren. “My, my. Will wonders never cease? And to think we thought you two could never have anything in common.”

“Enough,” Loki ordered, flat, at the same instant a far less than amused Steve said, “Tony, stop it.”

“This is a matter that should be dealt with amongst our own.” Thor spoke loudly as if to drown out his own embarrassment. “While I appreciate all the help you’ve given, my friends,” his gaze bounced between the Avengers, “you should rest. Your aid is not needed here.”

“You sure about that?” Barton’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Whoever she is, it sounds like she can be quite a handful.”

“Well, we’ve faced her before.” Fandral looked between Sif and Hogun, but his smile was confident. “It helps to know it’s her to begin with. The Enchantress’ greatest ally has always been the element of surprise.”

Sif only vaguely hid a scoff. No doubt it was her opinion Amora’s greatest strength lay in her manipulative beauty, or perhaps the simple weakness of men.

“Either way,” Thor’s stormy look to Sif indicated he would appreciate her keeping silent, “we will fight this battle on our own.”

“We can find someone to show you the way to the healers.” Loki glanced at the off-kilter Tony Stark. “After that, you should retire to your rooms. Bathe. Partake in food and spirits. Relax.” A more calculating look he gave to his cousin. “Balder, you should join them.”

“What?” Balder immediately protested. “But Loki, I have not been injured! I’ve no need to rest. Please, let me help.” He held both sword and shield with solid determination as if ready to prove himself that very moment, and he looked between both his cousins in appeal. “You know I can fight. You’ve seen.”

“Aye,” Thor agreed, quietly, and he exchanged a worried glance with his brother.

Loki held an inward sigh of relief that it seemed they both were on the same page: neither of them wanted to risk Balder getting hurt the very instant of his return.

But more than that – Balder being alive was a trump card Loki preferred to hold onto until the very best moment. He didn’t want to ruin it by giving it so soon away. Revealing Balder could wait, until after Amora had been dealt with.

“We can always send for you if we need you,” Loki diplomatically offered.

“You’ve been so long gone; it would seem only right you have earned a reprieve,” Thor determined.

Balder looked stubborn and unhappy, but he let his shoulders drop, guard begrudgingly relaxing as Loki moved closer, briefly touching his arm.

“Please,” he asked more firmly, his voice soft, “do as we ask.”

After a moment Balder nodded. “All right.”

If Loki had thought, perhaps even hoped, that the strong devotion Balder had formed for him would fade the instant they were surrounded again by Asgard’s golden glow, obviously he’d been wrong. For the time being though Loki would not mourn, for continuing to be able to command Balder suited his purposes.

Later, when their enemies were dealt with and loved ones were safe, Loki would be able to distance himself. Perhaps once he was able to compare his cousin to the other Asgardians in the flesh, Balder would snap out of his dream.

As they walked towards the stairs Loki had a belated thought regarding what’d happened on Svartalfheim.

He hesitated, face expressionlessly composed as he cleared his throat and looked to the others. He successfully had their attention and they looked to him with interest.

“If it’s all the same to you,” he remarked, carefully, “when this tale of our journeys is related for what I’m sure will be very eager ears…let’s not mention to anyone what _exactly_ it was I was doing to survive when you met me on Svartalfheim.”

Hogun, Sif, Fandral and Thor’s faces were aghast at once with the realization of how the rest of Asgard would react to hearing what profession Loki had temporarily entered.

Certain he had their understanding, Loki finished, “Especially to the king and queen.”

“No, it’s cool, we’ve got it,” Stark spoke smoothly, his tone matter of fact. “No problem. We’ll tell them you were working your way through law school.”

Loki only glowered at him.

Barton interjected over the other mortal’s palpable amusement, though he wore a snide smirk of his own. “Relax,” he assured Loki. “We can keep a secret.”

Loki sighed as in their restlessness the others began milling around and filing past him.

“I suppose it will have to do.”

As they were met by a patrol of very confused and astonished guards coming out of the Vault, their group split into two. Sif, Hogun and Fandral would accompany their princes as they found their way to wherever Amora was being held. The guards moved to obey Thor’s orders to escort the others to the healing room and then to some place where they could rest.

None of them reacted to Balder’s presence, and Loki and the others said nothing. It was likely with his changed appearance that none of them even recognized him – he who had once been most beloved of all of Asgard’s young warriors.

But it was no matter, now.

*

As the company of rebellious Frost Giants had followed behind in the first group of travelers’ footsteps, the exact same amount of time had passed when the air crackled and there was the sight of frozen lightning before the Jotun appeared in the Vault.

The room was dark. The last patrol of guards had been diverted to other duties and the next changing of rounds would not happen for many hours. In its hidden compartment the Destroyer slept, ready to be wakened at a moment’s notice.

Wary, with teeth bared, the giants looked around. Almost immediately they gathered where they were and stood back to back, many changing the ice on their hands to the shapes of swords or maces.

There was no sign of their precious, long-lost Casket. More than one of their number hissed in displeasure at this discovery.

But still they were surrounded by powerful artifacts, weapons the ancient Asgardian king had taken from many nations. As much pride and sentimental worth as the Casket would have possessed, surely one of these other objects could add something of value to the cause?

One of the Jotun turned to the nearest plinth and with long hands reached to grab onto what rested there by a corner.

Swiftly his wrist was seized, twisted in a crushing grip, as his leader stopped him with a glower.

“No,” the Jotun growled. “We will fall for no tricks, here. These weapons are likely to be guarded by powerful Asgardian magic.” He released his soldier’s hand, dropping it sharply. “We do not need them.”

The second giant bowed his head, cowering, and scuttled away.

The leader of the band drew up to his full height, standing there with a look of fierce determination on his face, looking from one of his followers to another as they waited obediently and reverently for his orders.

This giant was known as Thrivaldi. And he had considered himself an enemy of the current would-be kings of Jotunheim since the moment Laufey fell.

Thrivaldi was a military leader; harsh and angry, he inspired those that supported him by shows of power and fear. There were many like him back home, dissatisfied with the new rule. But he was one of the few who had gathered a substantial army. The greatest threat, possibly, because he was also the greatest contender.

Driven as much by lust for the throne as nationalistic pride, the usurper pictured the glory of a Jotunheim restored, ready to have its revenge on the other Nine Realms. He dreamed of building an empire in his name, of the other weak and lesser races cowering where they belonged at his feet.

It was time to put an end to the lingering remnants of the line of Laufey, to sweep aside the clinging scraps of a now ignominious past. Time for a new chapter to begin: the line of Thrivaldi.

He parted his lips in a terrible sneer, breathing in a sharp hiss past his bared teeth.

“There is something much greater to be seized from Asgard, and far less guarded,” he said. “The Bifrost.”

His men returned his expression with enthusiasm and cruel excitement as he lifted an arm, gesturing them onward.

“We will take Asgard’s bridge for ourselves. We will march on it, and take command of its helm, and with its magic under our control all will remember the cold fear of the reign of the Frost Giants!”

The other Jotun grunted and growled, cheering their approval. They reveled in what was offered to them: the Rainbow Bridge coated in ice, Jotunheim’s new source of power, its destructive might turned against the same arrogant race that had created it.

For his part the leader of this wave of rebellion fairly salivated as he pictured himself with a crown on his head, standing on top a mountain he had built himself out of corpses of defeated enemies.

Jotunheim deserved a strong king like him. A king that would make the realm what it was meant to be: terrible ruler of all.

Thrivaldi took his place at their head, and as dogged and unrelenting as the first frost of winter, together they marched out from that place.

*

So much time had passed since Jane found herself taken prisoner. She had no idea how much, actually, since the room she was in had very little light and she never had any visitors.

It wasn’t a dungeon she was in. But it was small and cramped, cooler than other parts of the palace since there was no lit fire to warm it, no furnishings save a straw pallet on the floor. She was given bread and water that was shoved at a slot through the door.

It was probably a good thing that whoever the woman she looked like was, the guards were afraid of her. They kept their distance and didn’t try to beat her or anything else. They rarely spoke, and when Jane opened her mouth they hurried out of the room, refusing to listen to anything she had to say.

Not that it would’ve made any difference. She was powerless to say her own name, to try and tell anyone what’d happened to her.

So the days passed and she tried in vain to mark them by the light from a single small window, sitting curled up on the floor with nothing to occupy her, not even a piece of paper to write on.

Just a short time ago she had been the luckiest woman on Asgard. Whether she really wanted it or not the whole palace was ready to wait on her hand and foot and shower her in luxuries, and she was engaged to a handsome and very special man that she loved. Now she was locked in a cell, no way of reaching any of her friends, and there was a stranger out there living her life instead of her.

It wasn’t Jane’s nature to feel sorry for herself. But she probably couldn’t be blamed if there were a few times, alone in the dark, she cried.

She was angry. But more than that she felt hopeless, and scared. Try as she might there didn’t seem to be any way out of her current predicament, not a thing she could do. And she didn’t know what was going to happen to her if nothing else changed.

Would she be punished for a crime she didn’t commit, taking another’s place the way someone had taken hers?

She could spend the rest of her life chained to a wall – or worse. Because she knew Asgard still had capital punishment.

A nightmare played itself out in front of her eyes. King Odin shouting out _“Off with her head!”_ , as bound and gagged she was dragged before a yelling and screaming crowd. Faces she had come to recognize cheered as she was forced to her knees, pleading soundlessly, uselessly all the while. As a great axe was raised over her she looked up and saw Thor sitting on a throne – and sitting next to him was Amora, still wearing Jane’s face and bedecked in jewels like a princess. As she met Jane’s eyes she reached over and patted Thor’s hand, and smiled.

Jane shut her eyes and shook her head, squeezing her hands together tight and digging them into her forehead as she forced back a scream.

After all this time if no one noticed anything was amiss, they might _never_ realize.

She had hoped that Thor, or Darcy, or any of the others would see something was wrong. But here she still was, which could only mean they hadn’t.

The imposter had everyone fooled. Jane was out of luck, and probably running out of time.

There was an odd sound from the direction of the door. She stayed where she was a moment, listlessly, until finally she was able to identify it: a key scraping within a lock.

Her head shot up as the door was thrown open and a harsh beam of sunlight poured inside.

“On your feet, Enchantress,” a voice ordered.

Jane squinted and raised an arm to block the light out while her eyes adjusted. At first all she could make out was shadows. There were two figures in the door, another three standing just behind them. In her half-blind state she could only see outlines and shadows.

But the figure in the left of the door was recognizable, tall with broad shoulders and muscled arms, with a profile she knew and familiar golden blond hair. Jane’s heart soared.

“Thor,” she exclaimed, getting to her feet.

He didn’t rush to embrace her. “Stay you back, Amora. I’ve not come all this way to fall for yet another of your tricks.” His voice was curt and hostile and he held Mjolnir in a threatening manner.

Jane faltered in her attempts to reach him, stumbling. She gazed at him in horrified dismay.

Her dress hung off her, wrinkled and unkempt, her skin dull from so long without much food or sunlight, and she felt dirty, unwashed, her hair lank and probably sticking up in a few places.

But none of _that_ mattered. Because the dress was one that hadn’t belonged to her, her hair was still blonde and her skin milk-white and her eyes green. She still looked like something she wasn’t.

As she stood there staring helplessly her eyes slowly adjusted. She could see the angry look on Thor’s face all the more clearly. Loki was next to him, holding himself more aloof. Hanging back behind them out of the way she could just make out Sif and two of the Warriors Three.

“I warned you this would happen, didn’t I?” Loki murmured. “You should have listened.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jane weakly said. But what was she going to do?

Thor scowled. “Enough! Your tricks were bad enough to endure centuries ago, but you overstepped your bounds greatly the minute you transgressed against my lady-love.” He pointed his hammer at her. “I know not what foul magics you have used on her, but I order you to undo them at once, and make Jane once more as she is supposed to be!”

“But I-I…I c-can’t…I’m not…I’m…!” The words poured fragmented and useless from Jane’s mouth.

She took a step backward, shaking her head, as her eyes stung violently with tears.

_I’m Jane,_ she screamed inside her head. _I’m Jane, I’m Jane, I’m Jane!_

Thor’s face was growing darker, thunderous. He moved to step forward. But suddenly his brother’s hand shot out, blocking his way, stopping him.

“Wait.” Loki’s brow was creased as he looked to their prisoner, frowning. “Something is amiss.”

“Many things are amiss here, brother,” Thor retorted hotly, though he held his ground as Loki slipped inside the room. “Over the past few days just about every member of my family has been threatened! I am besieged by enemies from all sides, hidden in plain sight, and I am ready to put a stop to it.”

“No more than I,” Loki muttered, absent. He slid closer to Jane, one careful step at a time, almost circling as he eyed her with scrutiny.

Loki had never been someone Jane found trustworthy at the best of times. And these were _not_ the best of times. She kept her nervous gaze fixed back at him and did her best to move so he would never be at her back.

Finally he stood right in front of her. There was a silent pause as he kept looking with such unblinking, nerve-wracking intention.

“Brother-”

“Be quiet, Thor.” Without looking up Loki silenced him. The deep unnatural green of his eyes was hypnotizing this close, and if Jane stared into their depths she swore she could practically see all the wheels turning.

He lifted a hand, reaching for her – Jane flinched back.

“Easy, now,” Loki soothed her, voice careful and sincere. “I mean you no harm. If what I suspect is true, I’m trying to help you.” He reached out again and this time Jane managed to hold still, fisting her hands tight.

Loki cupped one hand against her cheek, the pad of his thumb resting just beneath her eye. But what seemed an intimate gesture had no love behind it, only intense scientific curiosity.

She felt dizzy as he gazed deep into her eyes, studying her intently. She couldn’t tell what he was doing but it was clearly _something_.

And then all of a sudden the trance was broken and Loki’s eyes flicked a fraction wider in surprise. He leaned back.

“This is not Amora,” he announced. “ _This_ is Jane.”

As her name fell from his lips Jane felt something untwist inside of her.

Air rushed through her, extinguishing the awful burn that had lingered down the back of her throat. She felt as though something that’d been blocking her voice was suddenly gone, that she was freer than she had been moments before.

_“What?”_ Thor demanded, agog.

“Yes!” The words burst out of Jane’s mouth: “It’s me, I’m Jane Foster!”

She practically sobbed, looking up in Loki at disbelief as one hand clutched the front of her throat. “I’m not her, I’m _me_ , I’m Jane, I’m…I couldn’t _say_ it. The whole time, I have no idea why…”

“Because the words were sealed inside of you, trapped,” Loki informed her. “The Enchantress took your name so that you’d be powerless to reveal her deception. It was very cunning of her; thorough.” He sounded broth troubled and annoyed.

Jane barely paid him any attention. Thor lunged forward, hands going to her shoulders as he held her at arms’ distance, staring at her in complete shock.

His face wrinkled with consternation as he gazed at her hollowly. “…Jane?”

Maybe she should’ve been pissed at him. But she was just so unspeakably _relieved_.

She gave him a wavering, wet smile. “Yes, Thor. It’s me.” Her voice cracked. “I promise.”

“Jane, I-” He looked to Loki, at a loss. “How can this be? How could this have happened?”

“Clearly Amora has not grown gifted enough through the ages to become a true shapeshifter.” Loki moved out of the way, cloak falling around his shoulders as he gave the lovers room to themselves. “Instead somehow she has stolen Jane’s form, using transitive magic to switch the two of them.”

He shook his head, answering the question Thor hadn’t yet asked: “I can’t break this spell until I’m in the presence of both of them. We need Amora for that.”

“Fine then. Then we will seize Amora, and have things put right once more,” Thor stated. “And she will be made to pay for what she did.”

He looked back to Jane again, only seemingly confused for one second before he drew her in close, holding her tight in an embrace as he buried his head against hers.

“All this time,” he moaned, “and it wasn’t even you! Jane…I am so, so sorry!”

“It’s not your fault.” She rubbed the back of his neck, petting him. “There was no way you could have known.”

Having him back again, so close after they’d been apart and she consumed with fear that she would never see him again, the warmth of his body and the smell of him made her feel weak in the knees.

Thor held her face in both his hands as he met her eyes again. She couldn’t tell if he was begging for punishment or forgiveness.

“But I _should_ have,” he insisted. “How could I have looked into her eyes and not known it wasn’t you? How could I have not felt something was wrong?”

“You were under a spell,” Hogun reminded him, charitably. The three other Asgardians had finally come into the room, everyone crowded together as they looked at Jane in a mixture of sympathy and dismay. “You were barely in your right mind to begin with.”

“Yes; and what thought would’ve occurred to anyone that Amora would be so enterprising as to swap places with your betrothed?” Fandral mused.

“Still,” Sif put in, more soberly, “this does explain why we thought that Jane’s behavior seemed so odd. It hasn’t been Jane at all.”

“Amora always did manage to overplay her hand,” Loki remarked.

“But now that we know, we can fix things,” Thor said with a determination bordering on mania. The betrayal of having Jane switched out right under his nose had clearly shocked him to the core.

Bending down he started to gather her up in his arms, intending to carry her.

It was sweet, but there was something Jane realized she needed to take care of, first. “Wait,” she stopped him with a raised hand. “Hang on. Put me down.”

Thor was bemused, but automatically did as she asked. Once on her feet Jane took a moment to steady herself, and then drew a breath and went back over to Loki.

“Thank you,” she said, soft but sincere. “For knowing. For being able to help me.”

“You are very welcome, but it was nothing,” was Loki’s quiet response.

“No one else was able to do what you did,” Jane insisted. “You were the _only_ one who could. If you hadn’t been here, who knows what might have happened?”

She’d already thought of some of the possibilities, and tried not to shudder.

Loki bowed, and picked up her hand to press a chaste, formal kiss to it. “My lady,” he accepted her thanks, polite. “You know I would do anything to ensure the happiness of my brother.”

She did know. And maybe that should have been enough.

But Jane couldn’t help it that her lips curved in a slight frown.

“Just your brother?” she pressed. “You don’t feel anything at all for me?”

Loki looked up at her, surprised and conflicted. He let her hand drop.

“Should I?” he countered, uneasy. “You are my future king’s intended. You are-”

“Going to be your sister,” Jane reminded him, interrupting. “In-law, I mean.” He grimaced and she felt bold enough to take a step closer. “Loki…I know there was a time when you had a problem with me, but that was when you had a problem with just about _everybody_.” She almost laughed. “We don’t have to be best friends, but can’t we do anything more than manage to get along?”

Loki was stubbornly silent.

Jane glanced over at where Thor and the others were still hanging by awkwardly. But from their expressions and how they weren’t looking directly at them, she suspected they were doing their best not to actually _hear_ anything being said.

When she looked back again Loki was eyeing her in a way she couldn’t read.

“I can be nice,” Jane offered when he didn’t say anything. “No matter what Darcy says, I promise I can be really easy to get along with, most of the time.” She shrugged, weakly. “And I’m sure we could find something to talk about – your magic, and my physics…” She trailed off, on the verge of giving up.

This was it, she realized; if she couldn’t get Loki to warm to her _now_ , when he had just saved her life, she probably never would. If this didn’t work she was looking at centuries of cool but polite silence.

And no, that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. But if at all possible she’d like to avoid it.

“Do you know _why_ it is that so much of my ire was directed towards you, once, while Thor was still my enemy?” Loki finally asked her, slowly.

“Um. No?” Jane blinked, surprised and discomfited by the question. “I guess it seemed pretty typical. Going after your enemy’s loved ones – isn’t that Supervillain 101?”

“Yes, perhaps. But that wasn’t the only reason.”

“Then…what was it?” This conversation had somehow rapidly turned even more uncomfortable than she’d anticipated. She wondered what Loki could possibly be leading up to.

“Before he was banished I tried for centuries to get Thor to listen to me and see the error of his temper and his recklessness,” he said to her. “I was genuinely afraid, you know. For him, and for Asgard. But it made no difference. Nothing I did ever worked.”

Loki smiled at her wanly, turning his head.

“But then he got cast down to Earth. Three days,” he stressed meaningfully, with an air of derision that sounded like a lingering echo of the angry Loki from years before. “Three days, that’s all it took. Suddenly he was humbled, he put others first, he saw the wisdom in trying to control his temper. After only _three days_ – three days, in _your_ company.”

It took Jane a second to grasp what he was even saying. Her jaw dropped.

“You thought it was because of me? You were jealous, because you thought I was able to get him to do something you couldn’t?” Jane scoffed. “Loki, I had _nothing_ to do with-”

“You had _something_ to do with it,” he countered severely, not letting her finish.

“Fine.” She almost rolled her eyes. “I was _there_. I happened to be there at the same time as he was going through a lot of other things, and who knows, maybe I had a _little_ something to do with what happened. But I wasn’t solely responsible. He didn’t change _for_ me.”

She resisted the urge to look over at Thor, who she was frankly surprised had managed to keep silent this whole time. No; there were a lot of things about him that seemed like they came straight from a fairy tale, but the idea that he had ‘fixed’ himself for the love of her wasn’t one of them.

Real life just didn’t work that way. And thank goodness for that.

“I know that,” Loki murmured. But he didn’t sound entirely convinced.

Very pointedly Jane asked him, “Did you change who you were just because of Darcy?”

He jerked up, looking at her in dismay. “Of course not, but…that’s different.”

“No,” she corrected him, gently. “It isn’t. I know you think you’re so much more complicated than your brother – and maybe you are, a bit. But at the end of the day, you’re just two men, and me and Darcy are just two women.” She shrugged. “It’s the simplest thing in the world.”

Loki gave a strange smothered laugh. “Truly, you and Thor were made for each other,” he said to the floor in an aside.

But when he looked up again he managed to give her what looked like a more genuine smile.

Jane returned it with one of her own. “What do you say?” She extended her hand towards him, turned sideways for a shake instead of a kiss. “Truce?”

“As far as I was concerned we were under flag of truce to begin with,” Loki noted, as he took her hand in his anyway. “But, yes. I am willing to start over in getting to know one another, if you are.” The gesture was firm and eloquent as he shook her hand.

Jane was tired, and hungry. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a bath or slept in a decent bed. She’d spent the last few weeks being treated like a prisoner, and she still was under a spell that made her look and sound like somebody else.

But all the same she gave her brightest smile, eyes crinkling, and shining with hope and unabashed relief as her and Loki agreed to a fresh start.

Some things in life really just were more important. And family was definitely one of them.

As if he had been waiting in the wings for his cue, Thor came over the instant they drew apart again.

“Shall we go now?” he asked, looking between his fiancée and his brother cagily. “Has the matter, whatever it was, been settled?”

“Yeah,” Jane told him, beaming at Thor before she looked back at Loki. “I think it has.”

“It has been concluded…satisfactorily,” Loki answered, more vague. He straightened up, all business. “We can focus now on more pressing matters.”

“Yes,” Thor said gravely. “While we linger here Amora is still abroad, possessing Jane’s appearance and sullying her good name as she attempts to take control of Asgard. She must be stopped.”

“Then what’re we waiting for?” Jane said, determined. “Let’s go.”

*

Loki could tell by the anxious set to Thor’s brow that if it all possible he would’ve preferred for his beloved Jane not to have to be there. That he would much rather have handed her off to Sif, or one of the other warriors, and asked them to guard her while the princes faced their treacherous old flame.

But Loki had meant what he said in that both women needed to be present in order to break the spell cast over them by Amora. And at present, Thor seemed inclined to listen to his brother’s counsel without question – though the words must have pressed at the edge of his tongue, he didn’t even ask.

And so it was the mortal woman accompanied them as they made their way through the palace, though she remained in back and flanked on either side by Hogun and Fandral, as if guarding her.

The whole group walked as if in procession, with Thor at the head and Loki on his left, Sif bringing up the vanguard very close behind, before the other warriors.

The Asgardians were fresh from several days of rough travel, still with cloaks over their armor and carrying weapons that’d seen recent action. But none of them betrayed signs they were feeling tired. Instead they walked with purpose, gazes steely, as if gearing up gladly for another fight. Whether this second wind came from righteous indignation on behalf of the realm, personal envenomed feelings, or something else entirely, was something that was up to the determination of the individual.

Whatever the reason within moments they strode through the palace halls of highest nobility until they reached the chambers that Jane, as an esteemed guest of the royal family, had been given.

It was no throne room but clearly, Amora had made do with it for the purposes of holding court.

Two guardsmen were stationed outside the door, as if someone had been anticipating an interruption.

Loki took one look and without slowing said to his brother, “Don’t bother trying to reason with them.” He could tell by the half-present daze to their eyes they’d already been seduced by magic.

Thor took this advice and ran with it. He ignored the guards completely, didn’t listen when they commanded him to stop, and when one made the terrible mistake of reaching to restrain him he hurled the armored man aside easily with one arm. Then without pause Thor kicked open the door.

Loki was not particularly surprised to find his old ally had surrounded herself with a small army of handmaidens, simpering noble admirers, and a veritable harem of Asgardian men. She lounged in a plush chair sideways like a courtesan relaxing on a divan, and she had garbed Jane’s stolen shape in a diaphanous dress of the richest fabrics, dripping in perfume and jewels.

Clearly, the power-hungry sorceress had made no attempt at hiding her more recognizable habits.

At Thor’s violently concussive entrance she flinched in her seat with surprise, the servants and onlookers giving cries of alarm as they gaped in bemusement.

“Thor,” Amora straightened up, fingers curling as if she clutched the arms of her chair for support, “my darling, what a…a surprise! I had thought you and your companions were still away. To what do I owe this sudden, if not unappreciated, pleasure?”

“Save your breath, villainess,” Thor barked at her, visibly stewing with anger. “Your false reign will be stopped. We’ve come to put an end to it, along with all your other lies and treachery!”

Confused and scandalized murmurs rose from the crowd. Clearly _they_ hadn’t been put under one of Amora’s enchantments – they were just simpleminded, flocking easily to the scent of power. They believed the illusion this was Lady Jane, their prince’s fiancée. To see Thor shouting at her like that was certainly cause for dismay.

“What reason do you have for speaking to me thus?” Not willing to give up on the idea she could somehow get out of this by continuing to play her part, Amora sniffed, acting offended. “You wound me. Bad enough you should see fit to barge in here, unannounced, and show so little decorum to your one truest love-”

“You are _not_ my truest love,” Thor roared. “That woman is Jane Foster, of Midgard, and you are not she!”

Stepping aside he made room for Jane to be seen. Even in her disheveled dress with bruises and dirt still on her skin, she wore a self-righteous icy rage on her face that would’ve well-became a queen. Sif remained close beside her, glaring at Amora while she held her sword already pointed in one hand.

“Despite your best efforts I have seen through your deceptions – as I did all those centuries before,” Thor continued. “Renounce yourself, Enchantress! And perhaps I will feel compelled to be merciful on you.”

“But not too merciful, I surmise,” Loki couldn’t resist adding in a drawl.

As terrible as Thor’s anger could be, there was a little vicarious thrill he got out of watching it unleashed on somebody else. Particularly when that somebody actually deserved it.

Amora did an uneasy double-take when she heard Loki speak and realized Thor had been successful in finding him. She had to realize she was in for it now: when trying to play against one of them, her greatest advantage had always been to somehow manipulate the other to her side, using one brother to shield herself from the other. With both of them against her she didn’t stand a chance.

One of the noblewomen that had been fawning diligently over the false betrothed pointed at Jane with one finger and screamed: “Amora! The Enchantress!”

Concerned mutters went through the crowd, and they swayed in a manner that promised to quickly turn unruly.

“No,” Thor quickly countered, raising Mjolnir in a gesture for silence. “Not Amora! This is in fact Lady Jane, who had her form and voice stolen by this witch. _That_ is Amora,” he pointed, “who hides under a mask to manipulate in the name of her thirst for power.”

The outright panic stilled, but from the looks on their faces and sounds of their whispers, the mob wasn’t immediately convinced.

Amora pounced on their uncertainty.

“And by whose authority do you have that?” she demanded. “The words of _that_ woman? No doubt it’s only another devious game she plays to trick you again! What proof does she have of her claim?” Her voice rose confidently. “Does _Loki_ back her up? The lying prince who has a long history of fooling you for his own amusement, and who has allied with her in the past?”

The servants and nobles continued muttering, some nodding with eyes narrowed mistrustfully. Either way they showed no intention of moving aside. And the dozen or so men Amora had actively enchanted had drawn in closer, clearly ready to defend her as they stood with weapons in hand.

Jane was shoved back behind Fandral and Hogun, and the two men moved closer to Sif and the princes, the five turning so they stood all but back to back in a tight defensive knot. They posed warily, ready at a moment to lunge into action, and exchanged worried glances.

If the non-soldiers didn’t stand aside this could turn into chaos. The battle that would erupt would be unruly with a greater chance of injury, and certainly for those that would be getting in the way. On top of that there was a strong possibility Amora could take advantage of it and escape.

Loki cursed silently to himself, fingertips flickering with magic as he tried to think of something. It was a bad situation, all around.

“That woman was made prisoner on behalf of the All-Father,” one of the nobles was saying, pointing intently at Jane. “Who are we to question his authority?”

“Then perhaps you would do well to listen to the direct words of that authority himself.”

The resonant voice of the king came very clear, and instantly everyone fell into stunned silence.

Odin stood in the vacated entrance to the room, resplendent and intimidating in all his royal glory, his head high with the weighty air of command. At his back was an escort of guards. To his sides stood the queen, Lady Freya, and Darcy, who had her arms crossed and a victorious smirk on her face.

 “Father,” Thor exclaimed, both astonished and thankful. He indicated Amora again. “She-”

“I know, Thor,” Odin interrupted him simply. He gestured to the dark-haired mortal with one hand: “Lady Darcy came and found us, the minute she realized that Jane Foster had been replaced by an imposter.”

“Darcy?” the real Jane breathed, sounding immensely grateful.

“It was pretty easy to figure out, once I realized magic was involved,” Darcy stated, smooth. She shot a dark look to where Amora was still enthroned: “Considering the real Jane isn’t a raging superficial _bitch_.”

Odin didn’t so much as bat his good eye at the uncouth swearing. “As it turns out, Amora was smuggled into the palace as part of a plot, assisted by powerful allies from Vanaheim. Darcy brought this straight to our attentions, accompanied by Lady Freya, who had valuable information as to the nature of this fraud.”

Loki took a careful look at his aunt. The leader of Shieldmaids had the familiar hardened composure on her face, standing like a soldier awaiting an order.

But looking closely, he thought he saw something lurking in her eyes – something haggard, and raw.

If what Loki suspected was true then it was probably at least in part Nanna’s doing that Amora had been brought here. And if so, Freya would’ve had to have been in on it.

Before going to the All-Father she would’ve had to make up her mind; choosing between her Lady and her King. No easy task for someone who lived by the sword of duty.

But there would be time later to piece out what’d happened, and marvel over it. The All-Father’s timely entrance had done the trick. The majority of the bystanders were convinced and quickly getting out of the way. The few that lingered were more confused than stubborn, and being dragged along by the tide.

Loki took advantage of the opening left in their wake. He unsheathed a dagger and held it in his palm, giving himself a split second to aim before, with the full might of his arm, he hurled it at Amora.

She let out a shriek of fear and raised a hand, using a spell to shield herself. Combative magic was never her forte but of course she knew how to defend.

But the dagger itself had only been a vessel – Loki fastened to it a powerful curse designed to unbind and unravel. Unprepared Amora didn’t have a chance to guard the web of power she had draped around herself. The spell hit with dancing sparks of acid green.

Amora and then Jane cried out in pain, energy dancing and flickering violently between them.

There was a splash of color and light that caused many to shield their eyes. The room smelled faintly of smoke.

When everything was clear Amora had half-collapsed in her throne and Jane had sagged towards the floor, Sif clinging on to keep her upright. As both women rose their images seemed to warp – and then both turned back into themselves.

The witnesses gasped and dove further away from Amora. Her face twisted in anger and she snapped her fingers, bringing her enchanted slaves closer to heel.

Her irritation could’ve only been increased by the fact many were ignoring her. Thor made a sound of joy and relief and went to embrace Jane deeply. Darcy ran from her place by the All-Father to dive at Loki, wrapping her arms around him tight.

“You made it back! I’m so glad,” she sighed. He found himself smiling as he held her close, a warmth rising in his chest.

As Darcy pulled away again her voice turned firm. “ _You_ have got a lot of explaining to do,” she instructed. “Do you have any idea how crazy it made me, when you disappeared like that?”

“I didn’t leave you, or any of the others, under such circumstances by choice,” Loki promised her, caressing her cheek as he grinned fondly at her indignation.

“Well, yeah, I figured that out once I heard what was really going on. But even still! You’d better have one hell of an interesting story to tell, buster.”

He laughed. “Oh, as a matter of fact, I do. I think you’ll find it very entertaining. But now, my dear, if you’ll excuse us…”

He gently but firmly pushed Darcy away in the direction of safety, turning already to look back at Amora and her small army. Thor was herding Jane away as well – the two women hugged each other in a brief, smiling reunion, then ducked back to stand between Frigga and the All-Father.

“Thor,” Odin asked, calmly, “what say you? Shall it be the task of the king to strike this criminal down?”

“No, Father,” Thor responded without hesitation, no eyes for anyone but Amora. “Her crimes were committed against us. We shall enact justice ourselves.”

If Loki had been in Amora’s place he would’ve tried to run. The Enchantress had to know she stood no chance of winning. She didn’t have nearly enough on her side to take on Thor _alone_ , and hardly when he was backed up by the others. And then there was the fact that the All-Father was waiting in the wings on the off-chance his children failed.

But Amora was so very obstinate. She ordered her men to attack, backing them up with a few poorly-aimed if powerful spell bolts.

Loki batted most of her magic away like it was nothing. Thor plowed through the bewitched men with Mjolnir, rendering them unconscious. Fandral laughed heartily as he dashed in and out with his rapier; Hogun and Sif seemed to take certain enjoyment out of pummeling the men bodily.

It was over before it scarcely began. Most of the men were knocked out or too injured to get up, and a few had been struck so hard they were awakened from the spell.

Amora was cornered, at a loss. Loki created a magic chain and wrapped her in it so she couldn’t move her arms or run.

And then while Thor stood there looking visibly conflicted about the prospect of hitting a woman, Sif marched over and without pause socked Amora right in the jaw, sending her tumbling to the ground, senseless.

While the servants cleaned up and tended to the wounded, Fandral flirted with the impressed handmaidens, and the Enchantress was carried out on the shoulders of two guards like a rolled-up carpet, Darcy found her way back to Loki’s side and twined her arms around him again.

“Well that was exciting.” She kissed him. “Gods, I missed you. Where _were_ you all this time, anyway?”

“Jotunheim first, and then Svartalfheim,” he told her. “As I said, it’s a long and winding tale.”

“Right now I could tell you a few of my own.” Darcy glanced in the direction Amora had gone and shook her head. “Ugh. I know it’s kind of petty, but I sure don’t envy Jane. Having to know that that gold-digging platinum blonde skank is one of Thor’s exes.”

“Um.” Despite his better judgment Loki couldn’t help the cringing, awkward half-syllable that escaped his mouth.

Darcy took one look at him. And then she immediately rolled her eyes with a groan of exasperation.

“I walked myself right into that one, didn’t I?”

*

After the long journeys that had been undertaken, the tasks that had been accomplished, the multitude of players that had been involved and the threats that had been faced, at the end of it all the conclusion seemed almost anticlimactic.

Amora was bound under powerful magic as well as lock and key, placed in the same room her victim had been, and left to await justice at the opportune moment.

Now that they were no longer in the heat of battle Thor found himself embracing Jane multiple times, fussing over her as he asked again and again if she was sure she was all right.

Even though he hadn’t realized what had really happened at the time, he couldn’t deny he had sorely missed her in her absence. Her sweet smile and her dainty laugh, her kind and clever mind.

More now than ever, he was wholly convinced that he wanted to marry her. He could think of no one else he would so enjoy having by his side and sharing everything in his life with.

Though it hadn’t been that long a journey, he and his traveling companions were hailed as if they were returning heroes. The people of Asgard did so love the idea of a good quest. They crowded around them, cheering and begging eagerly for details of where they had gone, what monsters they defeated and what horrors they had faced. They were offered drink and food and women as rewards for their exploits.

Thor however kept insistently pushing his brother forward, and reminding everyone that Loki had been gone the longest. _He_ was the one who had undergone a _real_ ordeal – the rest of them had only come along to the rescue at the last moment.

Loki rather peevishly objected to Thor’s use of the word ‘rescue’. He asserted that he’d had everything under control and he would’ve been able to get home just fine on his own without any help.

Thor only grinned, and tried not to feel sour over how resigned Loki was when it became clear many hadn’t noticed or cared he was missing.

But he and Darcy were very glad to see each other again, and maybe what truly mattered were the significant ones, in the end.

There was palpable joy and relief in the air as Loki and their parents greeted each other once more. Frigga swung her arms around his neck and Loki bent down to hug her. And there was only the slightest hesitation when he went to exchange a few words, softly, with the All-Father.

At no point during any rendition of the storytelling was there a single mention of pole-dancing.

Despite being quite fatigued, Siún put in an appearance with her son in her arms, pushing people out of the way with a surprising stubbornness for so slight a woman, so that those who hadn’t yet the chance could meet her darling Saemund.

Volstagg followed close behind his wife. While she mostly stood there, quiet, with a tired smile on her face, her husband was much more expressive.

First he sobbed as he wrapped Loki in a crushing embrace and said how worried he’d been and how Asgard wasn’t the same without him, then he sobbed _again_ as he hugged Fandral and Hogun against his sides with one under each burly arm, bewailing the fact he had missed out on the fun. Evidently, fatherhood had made Volstagg especially emotive.

Around the time most of the crowds had been shooed away, suddenly the three Avengers appeared, healed and well-rested and, in the case of Tony, determined to act as if they had never been injured in the first place. Amused as they were by Asgard’s reaction to their heroic deeds, mostly they seemed genuinely glad that everything had worked out all right.

But there was still one matter left.

With great solemnity Thor left the others behind and followed his family into the throne room.

The golden antechamber had been cleared of everyone, even the guards that typically stood duty, and it made the room seem especially grand and intimidating. The king sat with his wife, his sons, and his wife’s sister standing at a close but respectful distance around him.

And then the doors opened and in walked Lady Nanna Nepsdottir of Vanaheim, matriarch of the House of Frey.

The soldiers that served as her escort left quietly and shut the doors behind her. Nanna glanced back and then, blankly, looked forward again.

Odin beckoned. “Come closer, Lady Nanna. There is a grave matter that needs must be discussed.”

There was no fear on Nanna’s face. Nor anything. Merely a hard, gaunt composure, her eyes shining with that seeming ever-present brittle anger, as she walked with head held high.

“You are here because of something that I’m afraid can only be addressed with unpleasantness,” the king continued in severity. “The only reason right now you have not been arrested and charged with treason is out of respect for you as a member of my wife’s family.” He paused, but Nanna didn’t say anything – she still didn’t react. Odin turned to look at his sister-in-law.

“Lady Freya.” She stepped forward, armor clanking. “Will you repeat now what you informed us of earlier?”

Freya cleared her throat so that her words rang clear and resolved. “The banished criminal known as Amora the Enchantress was permitted to sneak her way inside the palace with help from Vanaheim. Lady Nanna knew of Amora’s presence and her intention to replace Prince Thor’s fiancée, and she both said and did nothing. What’s more she planned to aid Amora in her endeavor by making sure Prince Loki was first out of the way, since he would almost surely see through the deception.”

“Did you know about this plot, sister?” Frigga demanded. Her face was stricken, her voice unyielding. Thor had been faced many times with this version of her as a boy – he’d feared it almost more than the cold wrath of his father’s judgment. “Tell me the truth.”

“No.” Freya’s voice softened a note. “I swear on my honor, I did not. I only found out of Amora’s involvement after the thing had already been done. Before I had thought my lady’s plan had been to remove Loki from Asgard for the sake of revenge.”

Gazing at her the queen’s expression did not relax any, but she nodded. Evidently what she saw and heard made her believe Freya’s words. Her face turned to fix on Nanna instead.

“What could you possibly have been intending? What was your purpose, in doing such a thing?”

Nanna’s mouth worked into a scowl. She raised both her hands, as if shrugging they should even need to ask.

“I wanted to strike a blow at your family’s ill-deserved happiness. To deprive the Jotun boy of his stolen life, and to deprive your rightful son of the woman he so adores.” She seethed. “And I knew, that with the Enchantress sitting in the palace as princess, it was only a matter of time before her vanity and greed scandalized the people and gave rise to outrage.”

“Did you merely wish to turn them against us and make our family hated,” Odin asked disparagingly, “or were you trying to foment an actual coup?”

Nanna remained unrepentant. “Either one would have brought me satisfaction to see.”

“Have you gone mad?” Thor broke in, horrified and disgusted. “I know the centuries have been far from kind to the connection between us, Aunt, but we are your _family!_ How can you strike out against us to bring us down?”

“You couldn’t be more wrong,” Nanna spat back. She bent forward, gripping her skirts in both hands twisted with fury. “My family died long ago. That creature you persist in calling ‘brother’ saw to that.”

Her gaze moved to fix on Loki in all her wrath.

But coolly, Loki met her eyes right back.

“Alas, you could not be more wrong,” he informed her. He sounded vaguely pitying.

He turned his head and nodded. And even knowing what was to come, Thor’s breath faltered in a lingering sense of amazement, caught in his throat, as Balder stepped out from where he had been concealed behind a pillar.

The light caught in Balder’s pale hair from behind him, seeming to give him a halo and making his appearance even more unearthly and astonishing.

Thor turned to watch as Nanna’s face was slowly overcome by shocked disbelief.

He had grown over the centuries, and he did not line up quite right with what any of them had pictured. But there was familiarity in his eyes, his motions. And there was no doubt that a mother recognized her own son.

“How can this be?” Nanna cried. With the wideness of her eyes and the emotion in her face she seemed to shrink down to half the size she already was. “Is this some form of trick?”

“No trick,” Loki answered her. “All this time, Balder was out there, alive and waiting. We only had to know where to look.”

At first Nanna didn’t seem to hear him. As Balder kept walking forward, his steps slowing, she shied back, too overcome or possibly afraid to let him near her.

Her voice broke in a sob as she clutched a hand near her mouth.

“Balder? _My_ Balder?” she wept. “My son, is it _really_ you?”

Balder gazed at her, his blue eyes wide. But he was uncertain and confused.

“Mother?” The word was more of a question. “Is that…right? Are _you_ my mother?”

Nanna’s voice broke again with a gasp. One trembling hand half-reached for him. “You don’t remember me!”

“I don’t remember much,” Balder admitted. “Many things are vague, strange inside my head.” He took another step closer to her, frowning as he studied her with genuine intent. “But I think I remember your face. It seems so very familiar to me.”

The two of them stood less than a stride-length apart, both with hands upraised, gazing at one another, but equally frightened to reach closer and break through that last barrier.

As touching as the reunion was, there was a grim pall of regret that hung over it. Not just because of how bittersweet Balder’s strange state made things. But also because of the crimes Nanna had committed in his name.

She couldn’t take any of that back, now. And she would still have to be punished.

Into this heavy with emotion, frozen moment, suddenly the silence was torn apart as the doors were thrown open and a group of figures dashed in.

Odin leapt to his feet. “What is the meaning of this,” he shouted. But the kingly outrage died in his throat when he saw who had interrupted him.

Two of the royal guard had pushed aside the doors. Now they hung back and three figures entered, hurried. The first was another guard dressed in the armor that signified he served Heimdall’s watch. He was huffing and puffing, having clearly just run a long way.

Thor stepped forward in apprehension as he saw who the other two that came forward with him were. It was Sif, back again in her full armor, and Steve, wearing his suit and carrying his shield.

“All-Father,” the guardsman wheezed, “my apologies, for the intrusion…”

“We must move quickly,” Sif cut in. She waved one arm, beckoning them to follow her. “The Bifrost is under attack!”

“What?” Thor exchanged alarmed looks with the others. Odin marched forward, calling for his armor to be brought to him, and Frigga followed close in his footsteps as Freya silently checked her sword. “By who?”

He’d a terrible feeling he already knew the answer.

Sif breathed, “Frost giants.”

*

All his life Loki had been raised on stories of war. Ballads and history lessons; boasts and bedtime tales full of weapons and fire and felled enemies.

Asgard was a realm obsessed. Its children were raised and trained for generations to be hungry for battle; in preparation and all eagerness for an invasion.

But for thousands of years that battle they stood ready for, searching for, had never come.

Until today.

The door to the throne room was left open. Out in the vast hallways of the palace, a kind of controlled chaos had emerged. From that perspective one could see clear out to the edge of the grounds, to the start of the rainbow road – and everywhere there were soldiers arming themselves, servants running for cover and commanders gathering their troops.

Horns blew, distant and echoing retorts that told those even far away now was the time for action. Voices shouted between men. Weapons were grabbed, armor was looked for. Everyone was in a hurry, and most of them were rushing towards the fight.

It was a grim day, the Realm Eternal under siege, enemies already within her gates – but everywhere Loki looked he spied grins and excitement. The Asgardians saw before them a chance to fight for the honor of their land, to face a woe worthy to fuel their bloodlust, to take part in a war story of their own.

This was what they lived for. In the ages to come, there would be songs sung of this day, and these men could say they were there when it happened.

Assuming, of course, there was anyone left to sing the songs, or to listen. Assuming this day ended in victory.

Canny and often cynical as he was, Loki knew better than to begin at the start thinking it was certain.

There would be blood spilled this day. Now _that_ was a certainty. Fate willing, it would mostly be Jotun. But everything had a price, and no doubt by the time it was over there’d be a few Asgardian bodies scattered in among the rest– the glorious fight these warriors oh-so longed for paid for by the heads of their brothers.

Loki joined the disjointed torrent that moved inevitably forward. From every direction came the sounds of metal clanking, the pounding of booted feet. His eyes darted as he took in the allies scattered around.

The All-Father had gone to speak, quickly, to his advisors. Still in his mail Thor held Mjolnir aloft as he yelled out commands for someone to bring him his helmet. The Avengers had joined the cause without hesitation – Loki caught just a glimpse of Iron Man far ahead and vanishing, flame bellowing from his armor.

As soldiers ran towards the Bifrost he spotted Sif among them, shield on her arm and glaive in her hand, moving with determined stride.

He darted after her, catching up and stealing her attention by grabbing her shoulder. She stopped and spun back to look at him.

“Sif,” he breathed, anxious, “how many are there?”

“More than we fought on Jotunheim,” she answered him, clipped. Loki sagged, matching tone to the flinty look in her eyes – _enough_ Frost Giants was not a foe so easily dismissed, especially if they were headed for the Bifrost. There could really be trouble. “They must have called for reinforcements.”

Loki sighed, even knowing there was no time for recriminations. He had been careless, and not hidden their trail or taken steps with his magic to seal off Yggdrasil behind him. But it had never _occurred_ to him the Jotun they’d stumbled over would follow the path they’d so helpfully left for them.

The exact way a group of Jotun had followed a path of his before.

Once more his history was his own worst enemy, speaking out against him.

“Sif,” he said again, begging her with heart sinking, stopping her when he saw she was impatient to leave, “please, you must believe me. I did not intend for this.”

The look Sif gave him in response was genuinely, if dismissively, confused. “Never did the thought occur to me,” was her reply.

And without wasting any more time off she ran to find her place on the battlefield.

As Loki stood there, briefly numb with a feeling of relief and surprise, there came more familiar voices. Head turning, he watched the Warriors Three as they gamboled about.

“Volstagg. Volstagg!” Fandral rushed to catch up to his companion, voice a mixture of laughter and urgency. Silent Hogun stalked the two as a shadow. “Friend, you’re going the wrong way!”

“No,” Volstagg called, not looking back as he gave his response, words curt alongside huffs of his breath. “I am going to stand guard outside my wife’s chamber.”

_“What?”_

Fandral finally caught up to the other man, all bewilderment as he was able to bring Volstagg to a halt long enough to speak with them.

“You heard me,” the broader man grunted, with a seriousness that banished the errant smile off his friend’s face. “Right now the greater duty is to my family.” His voice was briefly choked: “My Siún. My newborn son…”

“In all odds the Jotun will never make it that far,” Hogun stated, toneless.

Fandral took up the cause more feelingly, nodding and gesturing expansively. “If you cower back here, you’ll miss out on all the fighting! What kind of a story would that make: when we defended Asgard mightily under siege, Volstagg the Valiant hung uselessly in some corridor, axe in hand though he had no one to wave it at?”

 But Volstagg’s face was grim, harsh. “And if the front lines fall, and the giants do make their way into the palace?” he demanded. “Who will defend my family then?”

Loki stood aside, unnoticed witness to this tableau. Neither Fandral or Hogun said anything – partially because they had been stunned into somber silence by the possibility Volstagg painted, but partially for something else.

Not noticed at first by her husband, Siún had appeared from wherever she had been hiding, her sleeping child still held firmly in her arms as she walked behind Volstagg, having heard everything he said. The other two men eyed her warily, waiting with bated breath for her to speak.

“If the enemy reaches that far, what difference does it make if there is no one to guard us?” Siún countered without introduction. Volstagg started, and turned to face her. She met her husband’s eyes, frowning. “By then it will already be too late.”

Volstagg kept his chin up but his shoulders dropped. There was nothing to say – anyone warrior enough to understand the circumstances knew she was right.

If the Frost Giants were many and strong enough to defeat all those gone out to face them, to fight their way through scores of able-bodied Asgardian warriors and reach the innermost rooms of the palace unhindered, then there’d be no stopping them. By then the best would be dead, and there would not be numbers of defenders enough to hold them off for very long.

If Volstagg insisted on standing lone protector to his family and the Jotun troops _did_ come, there would be nothing left for him to do at that point but sacrifice himself, dying bravely defending them.

After a moment Volstagg intoned as a solemn vow, “So be it, then! If I should fall, it’s only right that my last breath should be given for those I love-”

“ _No_.” Siún stepped closer, her expression fierce, her voice _commanding_ him. “If you want to protect us, then you should be where you can make a difference. Stop these invaders from coming anywhere near our son.”

Her husband gazed at her in a mixture of wonderment and disbelief. But he listened, and he grew tall under her words.

“Go,” Siún finished. She clutched Saemund tighter to her breast as she made to turn and go back whence she came. “A warrior such as you is needed at the front. We will be waiting, when you return.”

“Until then, my love,” Volstagg called after her, almost wistfully.

But there was a renewed fire in his eyes, a zeal for battle as he turned back to his two friends and crowed, “Well then, what are we waiting for! Let’s show those brutes what it means to face the fury of the Warriors Three!”

Hogun smiled as he clapped him on the back, and Fandral laughed in excitement.

“You know, if you had insisted on staying, we would have remained back as well and stood with you,” he told Volstagg earnestly.

Hogun nodded his agreement. “We fight together, no matter what.”

Volstagg gave a happy, repressed sob and hugged his friends to him. “Oh, if only every man could be so blessed, in having such _true_ companions.”

Thankfully, the interlude was brief. Almost immediately he released them, gave a manly sniff, and gestured before them.

“Come now! Into the fray.”

As the Warriors Three charged off together, Loki looked back in the direction Siún had gone. Though she was by now too far away for him to hear, he watched as she gathered Darcy and Jane to her, hurrying them as they went out of sight. It looked as if the women intended to hide together.

Good. One less thing to worry about; between the three of them, they could take care of each other.

He looked again ahead, at the rapidly disappearing figures of his warrior companions.

Loki was torn. He of course intended to join in, but he knew not where to make his stand. The members of his regular band were scattered.

Should he scurry his way to the front where no doubt his brother and the Avengers were and try to find a place among them? Or should he hang back and fight alongside the ranks of soldiers, with Sif, with the Warriors Three?

Time was brief, however, and even in the throes of a decision there was no space to hesitate. Even as Loki considered he was running, closer and closer to where the battle was, legs moving swiftly and mind too as his thoughts turned multiple directions.

He weighed whether there was enough time to go to his room and gather his full battle armor. It was definitely called for in this situation, and he knew he could make it there and back in only minutes…

But minutes could make all the difference, in the harrowing split-second action of war. At least he was still wearing his travelling gear. No helmet or extra weapons, but chainmail and his throwing knives; yes, needs must, and it would have to do.

He reached the final gateway that overlooked the road leading out of the city. If he stopped and listened, he could hear the roars of giants and the sound of weapons swinging. But there was no time to stop.

The All-Father stood with tall helmet on, cape billowing and Gungnir in hand. Surrounded by armored generals on one side and common guardsmen on the other, he held out his hands to his queen as they made their farewells.

Yet again watching a scene he had no part of, this time Loki hid on purpose. He was reluctant at best to be drawn into their parting. But he peered out from behind a column, watching intently.

“Do not go straight into the thick of things if it can be avoided, my king.” Frigga squeezed her husband’s hands gently. “Your warriors are strong, and will defend your kingdom mightily.”

“Aye, I’ve no doubt.” Odin gave a wry chuckle as he reluctantly freed himself from her grasp. “I will end this quick as it can be done, though not without denying those both young and old their chance at the pleasure. But what a king would I seem, if I sent my people to fight and was not there to lead them?”

Loki understood. The All-Father’s power was great enough that if he wanted, he could ride Sleipnir to the center and destroy all the Jotun with a few well-placed blows. But old as he was, and as great a drain his powers could be on him at times, it was foolishness for him to sacrifice himself over a fight the ordinary soldiers might easily be able to handle. He would be present and aid where he could, but stay back – a secret weapon should it be needed if times grew dark.

“I will pray for your safe and speedy return.” Frigga’s voice seemed almost lighthearted. But it was a very common saying for a wife to give to her husband on the eve of battle. “For you, and all our children.”

Loki ducked back on reflex guiltily, pointlessly afraid she had spotted him – knowing she referred to the metaphorical ‘children’ of their subjects, and otherwise.

Hadn’t they been given cause enough to worry over both Thor and him especially at times? He seemed all too aware of it at present.

“Do so. And remain vigilant, until our return.” Odin turned his head to take in the assembled men that would be standing at the gates just in case they were needed. “There’s a chance some of these invaders may slip through our lines and try to find their way into our city.”

Frigga nodded, and despite her serene expression and folded hands there was steel in her gaze. “They will have to get through us, first.”

Another queen might retreat to safety; it was clear Frigga intended to remain right where she was, shoulder to shoulder with the guards, watching the battle.

Loki had no doubt if it came down to it, his mother would seize a weapon from one of the men to arm herself.

The king and his men parted. But in the vacuum they left Loki was suddenly able to catch a curious, feeble whimpering sound – and as Frigga turned her head aside sharply he followed her gaze and understood.

A short distance away from her sister-in-law, Nanna stood, half-crouched as she clung beseechingly to her recently restored child. Balder moved, restless; his mother tried to hold him back, and when she failed she clung to the edges of his clothes, pleading with him.

“Balder, please…no…stay here with me where you’ll be safe!”

“What good is my being returned to Asgard if I do not my part to defend it?” Balder insisted. He successfully pulled free from his mother’s grasp, the look on his face resolute. “I am a warrior like any other. I will not shirk my duty. Not now.”

“This is not your fight,” Nanna cried. She reached for him again, tripping in her haste and horror. “You can’t…you can’t do this!”

“Forgive me Lady Mother, but I must,” he told her with gravely serious formality. “This _is_ my fight, no matter what you say. I know it in my heart as I know little else.”

He turned his head aside, already looking towards what he would be facing. He truly cast a poetic figure, dusky hair over his solemn brow, jaw set with ready determination. He drew his sword in a fluid motion, grasping hilt tight in his gloved hand.

“All must do their part this day, and I will not be the least among them.”

And with a whirl of his cloak and a faint clink from his mail Balder turned and ran, feet carrying him towards the rainbow bridge with the stride of the truly noble and righteous.

_Fool,_ Loki cursed at him, despairingly, _what are you thinking? Able and strong you may be, but what advantage do you hold over foes you refuse to kill?_

Nanna lost whatever last bit of composure she had over herself. Her legs gave out under her, and two handmaidens tried in vain to soothe and help hold her upright. Even Frigga was moved to intervene.

All to no avail. Nanna thrashed in their arms, clutching with fingers gone white at the knuckles. Her face contorted in grief as she wailed. Her sobs were unrestrained, violent, in the most alarming way – in her anguish she was made ugly.

She gazed at the path of her son’s flight, eyes screwed up with tears but unblinking. No doubt she was already picturing, and remembering, the sight of Balder’s corpse.

Without pause for reflection or needing another backward glance, Loki slipped from his hiding place and followed his cousin.

Now that he knew Balder’s intention to participate, his role was clear. He would follow the other warrior, stand with him, keep him safe as he fought and make his return certain.

Certainly he owed a debt of that much.

Funny how the mind, the soul even could change. If the same circumstances happened but a few scant years before, Loki knew he would’ve felt differently. When he was cold in isolation, and forcibly unemotional to hide his rawness, a debt had been a stark thing, cut and dried.

He had cost Balder his life once, and he’d once restored it. The balance of his actions was intact, no more, no less.

But things were different now and he knew he could not let it be this way. Bringing Balder back to life and then heedlessly standing aside to let him get killed again – it was a foul, cruel thing to do. No; he could not leave it at that. Not if he considered himself as having any remaining scrap of honor.

As he crept stealthy but rapid in Balder’s footsteps, Loki could not help thinking on his relationship with fate.

Once he had felt it his fate to be wicked, to be Asgard’s enemy. And with bitter resignation he had thought, _so be it._ He had given in and let himself be a plaything of what he believed was his destiny. If he was to be a monster then oh, he would be monstrous. If it were his fate to fall then he would do it hard and fast, destroying everything he could on the way down around him.

Let him be cursed, despised; he was _only_ playing the part he was meant for.

Now…it was not that he had lost his belief in fate. No, what he’d lost was that sense of resignation.

It didn’t matter what fate wanted, what destiny was meant for him. It could be said, in fact, that he’d declared himself against it, an _enemy_ of fate. He would fight it, stubbornly, unrelenting. If he was supposed to be alone, then he would cling ever more tightly to those that loved him.

And if fate wanted Balder dead, then Loki would do everything in his power to keep death from him.

It didn’t matter if in the end it did any good or not. It didn’t matter if he could make any difference. Because no matter what, he was _Loki_ \- and he would not let fate dictate what he was or control his actions any more than he would anything or anyone else.

They were closing in on the bridge. “Balder! Wait!” he called out, catching up as his cousin hesitated, surprised.

As Loki reached him the look Balder gave was narrow-eyed, suspicious. “I hope you don’t intend to talk me out of this,” he stated. His voice carried a note of bitterness. Not a day back on Asgard, and already he was probably tired of being treated like he was helpless.

Loki took a breath and managed an enigmatic smile.

“Of course not,” he answered, bright. “I’m here to fight with you.”

Balder took that in and then grinned immediately, enthusiastic. He outstretched his arm to Loki, offering a warrior’s grasp of solidarity.

It was with only slight trepidation, a sinking feeling he batted away, that Loki reached out in return, watching the happy gleam in Balder’s eyes as they clasped each other’s forearms tight.

Together they stood at the entryway to the Bifrost’s bridge, pressing their backs to a pillar they took shelter behind. As one carefully they looked around it.

Unfolding across the bridge was not the orderly rank and file of soldiers lined up to face one another. It was the sprawling, senseless melee of the battlefield in full thrall. The enemy was not many but neither were they few, and they were spread out all over the rainbow road, some practically at the Bifrost’s citadel and some much nearer to the palace. On all sides they were surrounded by warriors determined to stop them.

The cacophony was unending, hypnotizing, almost strangely melodious.  Made up of the sounds of agony, and resolve, and death.

Balder’s weight shifted as he held both sword and shield, swallowing as he readied himself, and his skin grew pale. Loki watched him from the side.

“This is nothing like a quelling tavern brawl, cousin,” he pressed home, quietly. “This is war.”

“I know that it is.” Balder swallowed again, but he nodded to himself firmly, before he looked back at Loki. It was clear from his eyes there was no swaying him. “But an oath is an oath.”

Loki gave out a small sigh. “I know.”

They looked again. Within sight there was a Jotun knocking aside a group of mounted soldiers as if they were naught but toys. As the giant bellowed the soldiers stabbed up at him with staves, uselessly – he stomped his foot and was done with half of them, then sent out a wave of ice to finish the rest.

Together Loki and Balder slid around the pillar, still pressed to the side for shelter as they moved forward, getting ready to strike. Balder had his sword up and Loki curled his fingers, magic dancing around one uplifted hand.

Even at a distance the Jotun was directly before him. Though he probably didn’t see them he appeared to be looking directly at them as he faced forward. By wordless accord they tensed to charge: the Jotun took one step and-

And out of nowhere he was felled, by a large arrow that pierced him directly through the throat.

Loki whirled to the side, startled, and spotted Agent Barton kneeling behind the next pillar closest to them.

“Oh, sorry,” the Avenger said, offhand. He didn’t move a muscle to face them but remained in his position, bow taut. “Was that one supposed to be yours?”

“You,” Balder said, even more flummoxed than Loki himself. “What are you doing back there?”

Loki couldn’t really blame him – he was only surprised because he hadn’t bothered looking, but Asgardians were unused to seeing ranged weapons used in a full-on battle. Most learned archery or how to throw daggers as part of early training, but it was thought to be less exciting, less honorable compared to barreling into the thick of things and bludgeoning an enemy to death with your own hands.

Never mind that a ranged attack meant you could fight without getting anywhere close to your foes, and avoid putting yourself in danger. That would make too much _sense_.

“Should you not be out there, with your fellows?” Balder finished, quizzical.

Hawkeye still didn’t so much as blink. “My aim’s better from a distance.” Taking stock of the scene before him, he added, “If you two want to get out there, I’d say now’s your window.”

Balder exchanged a look with Loki, bemused.

When they didn’t respond at first the mortal drew one arrow from his quiver, then another. Loki could see both had the odd metallic heads that meant that’d been fitted with one of his various trick devices.

Hawkeye slid them against the bowstring. “Go on,” he urged again, coolly. “I’ll cover you.”

They probably wouldn’t get a second chance. Loki nodded to Balder.

“Come on.”

They ran; dodged past another Jotun, sliding underneath his swinging arms. From behind them they heard Barton fire. Though there wasn’t any time Loki half-wished he could look back to find out what the archer had shot, that it caused the Jotun to make such a strange gurgling sound as it fell.

There was no moment to exalt over the fact that they made it. In fact “made it”, as such, seemed an impotent term – the two of them scrambled, moving through gaps between friend and foe alike as they dodged mostly errant blows. The surface of the bridge was less certain and smooth than it was usually, encumbered in places by spilled blood, discarded weapons and the occasional felled body.

Loki stayed close as physically possible to Balder, hell-bent to not let him out of sight. His cousin lifted shield overhead to cover them both from a grasping giant’s clutches, bashing the hand away; they ran, and they kept running, and all the while Loki looked everywhere around them, picking out what details he could amongst the chaos.

Most everywhere it was variations on the same sight. A cluster of Jotun towering over those that fought them, surrounded by a much larger group of Asgardian warriors, with pockets of indeterminate action in between where motion was too thick and the bodies too close for the mind to get a read on.

It was ice and blood, metal and leather and flesh and bone. Trying to take in the entire bridge and everything happening on it at once would make one impossibly dizzy.

Far ahead, more than halfway along the road’s length, Loki could see the glinting silver of the Shieldmaids’ distinctive armor. He was completely unsurprised that even in so little time Freya could rally her troops to her side and then lead them so far forward.

The Avengers were at the front of the fighting, standing just behind the group of Jotun that’d gotten the closest to the Bifrost, attacking with all their might as they tried to stop them. Sif had beaten her way through the assorted forces to join in, and she stood sure-footed between Thor and Captain America, her sword moving in an unending blur.

Mjolnir came down with a bone-shattering crash and the captain’s shield sang as it sliced through the air. Nearby, Iron Man rained down assault from above, zipping in and out to attack the giants before they could even notice him.

At the other end of the battle stood the All-Father and his conglomeration of generals and personal guard. True to his word he was staying out of it, surveying all from horseback and occasionally shouting out commands.

Whenever a Jotun came too close he would lash out with Gungnir, but other than that he was motionless. They were holding the line, ensuring the invaders couldn’t retreat the way they came.

Somewhere between one edge of fighting and the other were the Warriors Three. Hanging close together they darted through the giants and moved in mostly unison, following a strategy formed by centuries of experience and a close-knit bond.

Rarely did they have to call out to one another, communicating through body language and a glance. Fandral fenced with his rapier at full length, and Hogun battered away with his mace. Sometimes the three surrounded a Jotun soldier and took him on together and other times they grew more spread out. But always they returned to be together as one.

Volstagg gave a bold laugh as he found himself face to face with a giant. “Ho,” he called up at his opponent, crowing; “You may be bigger - but I’m wider!”

He swung his axe with brutal speed and strength, as if chopping down a tree. In the space that opened up, the other two rushed in to meet him back to back.

Loki saw everything and kept moving. There was no chance to join any of them.

At last Balder found a gap in which they could pause for breath. As both stopped he looked around them searchingly.

Their space between was no more than a few feet long, with a surging fight they could join in any direction. A precarious calm within the storm around them.

“Where do we stand?” Balder called keenly, looking to Loki in inquisitive need.

“We _don’t_ ,” Loki said in reply, curt. Before he could continue a Jotun lurched forward, and swiftly he unhooked a knife from the back of his belt. He threw hard, his aim true, and the Jotun staggered back as he clawed in agony at the blade buried in his chest.

Loki turned to face his cousin, closely. “We stay on the move,” he explained, hurried but no less certain for it. “Strike fast, and hard, wherever we can do damage and be of most use.”

There were only two of them – and Loki’s forte would always be with speed and stealth, and Balder was hampered by his refusal to use deadly force. Making a stand would not end well. No; they would be at their best weaving in and out, hitting their enemy unexpectedly while not giving them a target.

He half-expected Balder to argue, but the other only nodded, moving shield aside quickly to grip his sword two-handed.

“All right,” he panted. His eyes were wide and ready as he moved to match Loki’s stride. “Lead on; I am with you.”

“Stay close by me,” Loki urged needlessly, unable even in the midst of the fog of war to shake his fear for his cousin’s life. “Ready – _now_.”

Together they lunged.

There was no time to think, to examine, but distantly Loki was able to appreciate they made a good team – far better than he would’ve anticipated. Balder could be fast when he needed, and though his blows were nonlethal they were expertly placed. He’d leave a Jotun damaged in one limb or another, easy pickings for other Asgardian soldiers to move in and take them down.

And Loki had no such compunctions about killing. With a well-placed blade or a sizzle of magic he tore through one after the next. He was too focused to remember his hatred, his cursed history that attached him to these monsters. There was only room for the task at hand: he was helping Balder, he was protecting him.

In tandem they struck, did what they could, and moved on. The battle kept going around them as their zigzagging, unplanned path took them further and further up along it.

They grew ever closer to the Bifrost and though they were nowhere near it Loki could make out the sight of Heimdall clearly. Armed with his massive sword the golden-armored warrior had stepped down from the door to his watch, and with thrusts from his weapon taken out two giants with misleading ease.

But more giants were coming. As Heimdall stood at the ready, sword still held sideways near his waist as if mid-lunge, he watched the three, then five Jotun that formed a line together, bearing down on him.

At the front was the same Jotun that Loki recognized as the would-be rebellious leader. He was sneering, teeth showing, a gloating look already in his eyes.

Preoccupied as he was with Balder there was nothing Loki could do – but surely Heimdall could handle this on his own?

Heimdall didn’t move any further from his post as he gazed out at the giants, waiting patiently for them to draw closer. The leader made a gesture with his hand, pointing, and two of his soldiers pulled away, moving to form a half-circle and try to surround Heimdall.

Still Heimdall waited. The Jotun held their stances, not giving him any sign as to what their move might be. One Jotun swung a club, suddenly, and got slashed across the hand for his trouble.

This proved to be an intended distraction as, as one, three of the others blasted at Heimdall with ice.

“Fool,” the leader of the Jotun hissed in his harsh gravelly voice, “to think you could stand in the way of my destiny. The time of Asgard is over! Now begins the time of Thrivaldi.”

But his victorious speech was interrupted before it could truly begin. First, Heimdall leapt out from behind the ice, swinging his blade with a roar – he had dodged before he could be frozen and crept down, using the giants’ attack against them as he hid.

Second, there was a percussive, steady, growing sound. The Jotun leader turned to find the Shieldmaids suddenly marching on him from every side, the rhythmic sound from their trademark shields as they walked, with Freya at the forefront.

There was no time for the Jotun to change tactics or make an organized stand. Their rank was broken as Heimdall swiftly cut one down then whirled to tear his sword into another.

And from the other side Freya and her troops strode forward unrelentingly. They closed in, bodies tight, weapons ready, and then – Freya lifted her spear and yelled at the top of her lungs, a wordless order to charge.

It rippled through the Shieldmaids like lightning. As one they picked up the battle cry and went from marching to running forward, swords and spears pointed, shields lifted, surging on their enemies in a tidal wave.

It was a cavalcade of resolved eyes and opened roaring mouths on all sides: a barrage of fierce women, boots pounding, armor clattering, gleaming and majestic and utterly unstoppable.

And Freya herself went straight for the leader. Without any hesitation, the instant she was in range she raised that massive shield, taller than she was and unspeakably heavy; and with one arm in a single motion lifted it to strike the Jotun full-on in the face and chest.

The full weight of the metal shield rammed into him, Freya’s arm swinging as she pushed forward and through. In that one movement the towering giant was thrown back and knocked down, landing painfully on his back at her feet.

Freya’s mouth was still open in a warrior’s scream as she stomped down, holding him in place with her foot, and stabbed downward with her spear.

And just like that, that was the end of the one who had called himself Thrivaldi.

But the battle didn’t end. The Frost Giants were too spread out. Most wouldn’t realize their leader was dead, and even those that did had to know surrender wasn’t an option. They’d opened with hostile actions and in return cast all protections of a treaty aside.

From far away came the booming voice of the All-Father, echoing loud for all to hear:

_“No quarter! Hold nothing back!”_

So be it. The giants would in desperation try taking as many Asgardians as they could with them to their graves, and the fighting wouldn’t stop until every Frost Giant was dead.

It became a true melee then. The scene turned even more chaotic as ranks closed in; Loki lost sight of all their major allies. He leapt over a dead giant in a frenzy to catch up to Balder, heart pounding.

But his cousin was fine. In fact he hung back, watching in clear admiration as the Shieldmaids practically tore the opposition to pieces.

A young warrior slipped and fell to one knee, the breath knocked out of her as a Jotun closed in. One of her sisters tried to rush to her aid – but before she could get there, there was a blur of red and white.

Captain America’s shield ricocheted off the Frost Giant’s head, and while the enemy was stunned, he jumped in to finish him off with an uppercut bash from his weapon.

Wordlessly, the Avenger knelt to offer the Shieldmaid a hand back to her feet. She accepted with an odd brightness in her eyes. She and the other Shieldmaid that had been about to defend her exchanged a meaningful look.

The very next thing Captain America was flanked on both sides by Shieldmaids, fighting with him in unison as they molded their tactics to fit his.

Loki’s faintly amused attention was torn from this sight by a nearby sound, and he spun to find Balder readying himself to face another Frost Giant that was advancing on him, growling.

Loki shoved Balder out of the way before the warrior could form a protest. In the blink of an eye he cast his magic, causing the lines of his image to flicker and dance before resolving into a small army of doubles. With a matching set of taunting grins, Loki and his illusions moved to surround the giant, standing in a ring at his feet.

The Jotun growled again, this time in frustration. Even this brute was smart enough to realize the many versions of Loki weren’t real, but he had to find the right one in order to attack.

Making a fist the Jotun swung at random and smashed down on first a Loki nearest his left front, then one to his right side.

Both dissolved into nothing, and the real Loki (front side, right) used the distraction to leap forward and stab the giant deep in his calve.

The giant bellowed in pain. Angrily he reached for Loki with one clawed hand, tearing at his side. Thick frost spread out from his touch, eating through the fabric of Loki’s clothing, even twisting his chainmail until it fell apart.

The Jotun was trying to freeze him to death. He had no way of knowing it wouldn’t work, but even still panic worked its way up Loki’s throat. If the chill reached him here and now and his skin started to change in the middle of the battlefield…sheer terror ran right through him at the very thought. His secret revealed was bad enough, but in the mix of war one might see blue skin and ask questions later. He could be killed by one of the other Asgardians, initially unrecognized.

Frantically he pried himself away, frozen cloth and armor coming off him in shreds. On Loki’s left side, from beneath his arm all the way to his boot, there was nothing left covering him but a single useless layer of clothing. No matter – he could worry about that later.

Right hand still gripping tight the knife in the giant’s leg, Loki flipped a curled blade into his left palm. His fingers wrapped around it as he coated the blade in magic, and he plunged it swift and sure into the Jotun’s skull. Making a garbled sound the beast was dead before he hit the ground.

Catching his breath, Loki dismissed the rest of his lingering illusion spell and stepped away, taking stock of himself. The ruined armor was no good, but at least his skin hadn’t changed.

And then he remembered who he was supposed to be protecting.

Alarm swept over him as he turned rapidly and looked around. His head swiveled, barely taking stock of anything but the fact he _didn’t_ see Balder.

“Balder,” he cried out, taking a few more steps away from the dead Jotun as he looked one way then another. _“Balder!”_

He stumbled forward on the battlefield. Searching the sea of warriors around him he tried desperately to find that familiar face.

And in doing so, he became utterly careless, and completely forgot himself.

Normally even distracted it was nigh impossible to catch him off-guard, but Loki was so consumed by his worried fixation on Balder he stopped paying true attention to everything else around him. The only warning sense he had that another Jotun had moved in behind him came about when it was almost too late.

Loki turned around, feeling as though his normally pristine reflexes were sluggish and dulled as he looked up, up at the Jotun that stood directly over him. His hands were empty, his guard was down, and at first the only thing he could do was gape idiotically.

The Jotun’s face was twisted in hatred, either over Loki’s killing of his comrade or perhaps simply in principle. Out of ice he had formed a massive spiked war-hammer and had brought it high over his head, muscles taut as he prepared to smash it down onto Loki.

And maybe Loki would’ve recovered enough to step out of the way in time. Maybe his reflexes would’ve taken over and he’d have found some last second way to defend himself.

He’d never know. He never got that chance.

Just as the Jotun’s arms came down, ready to bring in the killing blow, a broadsword suddenly erupted from the middle of his chest as he was stabbed from behind.

A spray of blood hit the side of Loki’s face. He flinched, instinctive, then watched as the sword continued sideways and cut the Jotun nearly in two. Slowly, heavily, the giant fell down dead.

Standing right behind him was Balder, his blade still uplifted in both hands, covered in the Jotun’s blood.

Loki stared at him, dazed. Balder’s mouth was half-open, gasping, the rush from his lethal action still fading. At first he looked back at Loki, and then he looked down at his hands and his gore-coated sword.

His face was dotted in flecks of red. The front of his doublet was splattered. The blood dripped gradually down his still half-raised sword and was beginning to fall onto his gloves.

Onto his hands – the blood of a life he had taken, Frost Giant or no.

_An oath is an oath,_ he had said.

In dismay Loki started to move closer to him, ready to reach out, to try and find the words to say. But before he got there something strange happened.

Balder began to glow. A bright, white light began emanating from his being, growing stronger until it blocked out the very sight of him.

Loki raised a hand to shield his eyes. The light faded in a few seconds, as sudden and unexpected as it had come on.

Balder still stood there in his blood-covered armor. But he had changed. He looked leaner, stronger, more well-muscled, maybe even a little bit taller. The unnatural white of his hair had gone, replaced by the fair brown of his childhood.

And there was something else about him – something undefinable. An aura, an air, of confidence and beauty and youth.

The shadows had gone from him. He was truly Asgardian again. He was Balder the _Bright_.

Loki’s move moved in the spasm of a smile. Still grasping what he’d witnessed he made a sound, a prelude to trying to speak. Balder looked up at that and met his gaze, his blue eyes wide, vaguely overwhelmed: with sudden knowledge and understanding.

And Loki knew at once, the change hadn’t been physical only. Balder’s memory had been restored in full.

Balder looked slowly down at himself, as if struggling with grasping what’d happened to him. Loki shifted his weight and crept a small step back, feeling a twist within from his own warring emotions.

He was glad for this. Truly. Now everything was right. But it also meant that Balder would remember him for who and what he was. He would remember why he should have nothing to do with him.

Remotely Loki became aware that they were surrounded by the sound of cheering.

While the two of them had been distracted, the fight was finally over. All the Frost Giant rebels were dead.

Thor spotted his brother and picked his way over to them. But his grin of triumph fell in amazement as he noticed immediately what had happened to Balder.

He looked the other warrior head to toe, raking in his changed appearance, momentarily speechless. “Balder?”

The other man’s head jerked up at the sound of his name – no hesitation, no air of sad confusion now. He saw Thor and his eyes lit up with full recognition and warm emotion.

“Cousin!” He grinned and Thor laughed, happy.

Balder went to him and they embraced as if they were seeing each other only for the first time. But it could be said, in a way, they were.

Thor clapped him on the back as they pulled apart. “You are whole again,” he noted, easily as astonished as he was pleased. “You have been returned and become your true self. How is this? What happened?”

“I do not know,” Balder admitted, haltingly.

Loki rotated to face them, his expression carefully composed. “Balder became what he was meant to be,” he told them, both men turning to listen to him quizzically. “A warrior, a son of Asgard. Somehow the key lay concealed in his pacifism. When he broke it, when he spilled life’s blood, so too went the spell.”

Though he still smiled Thor’s demeanor became more solemn. He placed a hand on Balder’s shoulder.

“Your first kill,” he remarked. “It is something to be both celebrated and, perhaps, privately mourned.”

“Yes,” Balder said, voice and gaze both far-off and inscrutable.

Thor brightened again quickly, however. “But either way, this fight is over. We stand together victorious.” He drew Loki to him, other hand going to his brother’s shoulder. “Our home is safe!”

“Yes,” Loki had to agree, and though his other feelings were complicated, for this he was quietly relieved.

The battle had ended. Men helped carry off the wounded and the few that’d been killed. Leaders were regrouping their troops to them.

Iron Man was using the blasters of his suit to melt away some damage to the bridge itself. Hawkeye had appeared to support an injured soldier as he limped back home. With somber gravity Captain America had joined the Shieldmaids as they lined up each of their fallen sisterhood and placed their bodies on their shields.

At the steps leading to the Bifrost, Heimdall and Freya stood, shaking hands in a warrior’s grip of camaraderie.

Loki had a feeling, though, that the Watcher would not be offering Freya a boon of his again – and that even if he had, the Lady would not accept it.

The Warriors Three and Sif had found each other. The men laughed uproariously, slapping each other on the backs, while the lady stood there and looked both smug and tired. There was talk already of going to a tavern to share stories and battle scars and celebrate living to fight yet another glorious day.

The All-Father had dismounted his horse and stood by the end of the bridge as his people filed past him, watching, silent.

It was the listless peace that came after chaos and destruction, the quiet of the battlegrounds after all the battles were done.

“Someone fetch me a sword,” one man suddenly called, boisterously. He stood over the body of a half-dismembered Jotun, smirking vicious as he grabbed onto it by the scalp. “We can keep these heads as trophies!”

Some of his fellows laughed and sounded their quick agreement, and headed eagerly towards more of the corpses.

“No.”

Thor’s one word firmly echoed across the space of the rainbow road, and all turned to look at their prince. He raised his voice higher, tight with anger and finality, and moved so that he would be easier to see.

“They may have been our enemies but they were sentient beings, and we owe them more respect than that.” Some of his audience made disbelieving sounds but he continued, undaunted. “They were warriors and worthy opponents, and they fought bravely for what they believed in, even if that cause was corrupt. We are men, and women, of Asgard – a home we all just fought valiantly to defend. It is _beneath_ us to partake in such desecration.”

He canted his head and looked over the side of the road into the abyss, black and seemingly endless.

“I would say send them back to Jotunheim but alas, their rulers probably would not welcome them there.” He nodded, indicating the empty space. “So let us deliver them to this expanse, where hopefully they may find peace.”

There were grumbles and mutters from the soldiers, who at first didn’t move to obey him.

Then, there was a rushed parting in the crowd, the sound of eight mighty hooves falling softly as the All-Father walked his way over among them, leading his horse by the reins.

“You heard my son,” the king said, calm. “Do as he commands.”

So one by one, with suppressed grunting and grumbling, the Asgardians worked in groups to lift the heavy lifeless bodies and carry them to the edge, where they rolled, slid, or simply hurled them down.

Thor helped. So did most of his friends.

Loki silently took a position by the bridge’s end, one foot braced on the railing, and he watched as one by one the Frost Giants fell down into the black and out of sight.

Oblivion swallowed them whole, embracing them, just as firmly as it had once embraced another fallen monster.

There was a faint cheer behind him, and Loki looked to see a sheepish Balder being carried triumphantly on the shoulders of half a dozen warriors, as a crowd gathered around, eager to see and touch him.

It seemed his glorious return was at last at hand.

Loki slipped away and began making his way back, unnoticed. All of a sudden he felt weary, and so very alone.

Asgard had her victory. Thor had his honor and his bride. Balder had everything that was coming to him.

All Loki wanted was to find Darcy and rest with her, lay his head in her lap and hold her in his arms.

*

A few days after the battle for the Bifrost, word of what happened was sent back to Jotunheim.

Though it was hoped that what became of the giants would serve as fitting warning for any who would think to try something similar, the All-Father let the two kings of Jotunheim know he held them not responsible for what happened since the defeated invasion was led by a rebel, and that he had no intention of reprisal for actions in which they played no part.

The ruler of Asgard wished the rulers of Jotunheim well, and was content for their two worlds to remain at peace.

(After the message was delivered, the Jotun kings held a conference alone together, where they discussed matters with surprising civility considering it was upheld they hated one another.

“So,” said Helblindi, “Thrivaldi is dead.”

“Aye,” his brother, Býleistr agreed. “Far from a great loss for us, or the realm, considering he posed the greatest threat of usurpation.”

“Indeed. How very kind of the Asgardians to conveniently remove him for us.”

 “Certainly so.”

“Do you suppose that anyone has wondered how there was an active passage through Yggdrasil that neither of us knew about, and that Thrivaldi was able to march his entire forces into without us doing anything to either stop or follow them?”

“Of course not,” Býleistr exclaimed. “After all, it is it widely known that I’m far too slow-witted to notice such a thing.”

“True. And for my part,” Helblindi chimed in, “it’s known I am far too rash and hot-headed to notice anything of the like, either.”

And the two sons of the Laufey exchanged a grin.)

The next affair before Asgard’s king concerned the unsuccessful plot to replace the crown prince’s betrothed with an imposter. This too was handled as quickly, and simply, and quietly as possible.

Though the repercussions of the plot had been quite public, the involvement of the leaders of Vanaheim in it was _not_. And it was decided in the interest of not causing a scandal, it was best this remain unknown.

The Enchantress was blamed for everything, and prevented from speaking out in her defense so she couldn’t reveal she did not act alone. Her magic was stripped, and she was banished again, this time not just from the palace but all of Asgard – cast out in the middle of the night and sent forcibly on her way.

Loki knew not where she was sent, and he didn’t care to know. Still he had to admit, part of him felt sorry for Amora. She had ultimately ended up in over her head, used and betrayed, and took the full weight for a scheme that had only been part hers to begin with.

But then again, he didn’t feel all _that_ sorry. Wherever she did end up, she was sure to find some way to survive. And if she was half so clever as she thought herself, she would’ve known better than to choose the coconspirators she had and think it wouldn’t come back to bite her in the end.

Even when the people involved despised one another, nobility always ended up looking out for its own – if there was one thing rulers hated, it was being embarrassed by their own family.

Nanna was also banished from ever returning to Asgard but it was done so in secret. Quietly she left the realm, so that no one outside the family would know of her shame.

Freya of course went with her, still acting as her escort. It was uncertain if she would ever return herself since the one she served was banished.

Balder promised that he _would_ one day return to Asgard, to visit, hopefully very soon. But for now, he said, he felt he needed to go home to Vanaheim – to attempt to reconnect with his mother.

It cast a small cloud over Thor’s continuing engagement festivities, since all the young warriors and nobles had hoped their beloved, resurrected Balder would be there to share in the feasting and dancing and tourneys with them.

Great was the crowd that came to see Balder and the rest of the Vanaheim conclave off the day they went to the Bifrost.

It was said the air rang with the weeping of maidens who had already fallen in love with Balder and hoped he would court them for his bride – it was only in part an exaggeration.

Most had to contend themselves with waving from a distance, though the royal favorites got the honor of saying goodbyes in person.

Sif bowed to Lady Freya one last time, fist clasped over her heart, eyes averted respectably. A slightly pink in the face Steve was surrounded by a gaggle of Shieldmaids that fawned on him admiringly, and he needed Tony’s intervention to keep them from possibly trying to carry him home with them.

Frigga and Nanna exchanged a frosty, civil farewell. Nanna was in something of a daze now, seeming at a loss without the grief and rage that had supported her for so long. Frigga, on the other hand, was quietly mourning the rift that had been permanently created between their families.

“Have a safe journey,” Jane told everyone, waving politely. She stood next to Thor with his arm around her, and despite the smile on her face it was clear by the half-concealed manic gleam in her eyes that she was more than ready for all these people to be _gone_.

Loki was perhaps more surprised than he ought to be that, after bowing to the king and queen and Thor, and exchanging warrior’s farewells with Sif, Volstagg, Hogun, Fandral and the Avengers, Balder came over to give a special goodbye to him.

“Be in good health, cousin,” Balder said to him earnestly, reaching for his hand. “Hopefully my affairs will not keep me from visiting again for too long.”

“Perhaps; but Vanaheim has changed, no doubt, in all these intervening centuries,” was Loki’s reply. “I’m sure you will have much to keep you occupied. Perhaps more than you realize.”

“Maybe. But all the same, I will not let it make us strangers.” Balder paused and gave a deep gaze into Loki’s eyes. “I owe you so much,” he said at last, soft, voice awash in gratitude.

Loki started, a bemused chuckle passing his lips. “You give me too much credit,” he demurred, shifting uncomfortably under so much thankfulness he felt he was not qualified to receive.

“I would not be here right now if it weren’t for you,” Balder insisted. He cupped Loki’s palm between both of his own.

“No, perhaps you wouldn’t.” Loki thought of all the ways that was true, bleakly. “I feel as though I should tell you I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? Whatever for?”

“I…I don’t know.” Loki laughed again, this time more bitterly. “It’s clear you’re better off now than you were before, and yet.” He shook his head. “Until you met me, you took an oath never to kill another. You had to break it defending me. It may have been what was needed to free your memories – but still, I can’t help feeling as if I have done you some harm.”

Briefly the set of Balder’s expression turned sorrowful. For better or worse, becoming a killer in battle was something he could never take back. If his innocence had been restored with his rebirth, then he had lost it again once more.

But he shook his head, banishing whatever thoughts haunted him, and smiled at Loki once more, wistful though still genuinely happy.

“As I told you once before, Loki, the past is the past. I believe that you are a good person, and that you could never hurt me intentionally.”

“Be _well_ , Balder,” Loki asked of him as a final parting, his voice heavy and sincere with his desire that it should be so.

“Of course.” Balder turned abruptly, bizarrely timid, almost shy. “I’ll write you,” he promised, and Loki was struck dumb by the realization that he truly was going to be _missed_.

He could only begin to imagine what the people watching this somewhat emotional parting from a distance must think. But between Thor and the Avengers, and now Balder, it occurred to him he was having an oddly hard time keeping sworn enemies.

Perhaps he truly had gone soft.

Darcy waited until Balder, and the others, had gone completely. Then she sidled back over against Loki, watching his cousin’s retreating back with her brow raised impressively high.

“ _Wow_ ,” she said, very slowly. “He has got _such_ a crush on you. And not even a manly mancrush, either. That was thoroughly non-platonic longing gazing I saw going on there. ”

Loki closed his eyes. “Darcy,” he entreated her, annoyed. She ignored him.

“I guess it’s not that weird.” She screwed up her nose. “I mean, okay, he is your _cousin_. But maybe that’s not such a big deal for you guys, considering how many royal families were into that whole intermarriage thing. Like; _thanks_ for the hemophilia, Queen Victoria. Because what Europe needed at the time was another raging untreatable disease.”

“Darcy…”

“Just for the record, though? If you are into him, I might be open for, you know…discussion. Inviting him over to hang out sometime. With just the three of us.” He gaze narrowed and moved sideways. “He is pretty cute. Especially now that he’s not fat anymore.”

“He wasn’t _fat!_ ” Loki fairly exploded in exasperation.

Darcy fell instantly silent, turned her head, and simply _looked_ at him.

Despite his better judgment Loki felt his face slightly heating up. Inwardly he cursed.

Her mouth moved in that way that meant she was poorly concealing a smirk.

“Uh huh. I _knew_ it.”

“Darcy,” Loki slipped his arm through hers and twined her hand with his, “you know that I love you, but for right now, do kindly shut up.”

“Make me,” she told him, sweetly, lifting her chin as she tilted her face closer to his.

And so he did.


End file.
